


Don't Let Me Drown, Don't Breathe Alone

by supernope



Series: it's in the stars [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tries not to think about how he and Louis only have two nights left together in the castle. Instead, he focuses on Louis’ hand on his thigh, the warm press of Louis’ shoulder against his own, and the pumpkin risotto he’s just piled onto his plate. He’s going to live in the moment, he tells himself firmly. Live in the moment. Right. (Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/703440">Follow Me Down This Time</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You may want to read the [first part of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/703440) first, if you haven't. This is just 32k of more self-indulgent Hogwarts fic, I'm so sorry. As always, a massive thank you to [Michelle](http://zaynsscentedpen.tumblr.com/) for helping me with the plot and being an awesome beta and just generally holding my hand and letting me whine to her about this story. (My [tumblr](http://supernope.tumblr.com/).) 
> 
> Title taken from [Ripe & Ruin](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bf2teyeHTMg) by Alt-J.
> 
> I should not have to ask this, but PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST MY FIC ANYWHERE. If I find out that my fic has been re-posted to any site, I will report that person to the site for plagiarism, whether credit was given to me or not.

Harry comes out of his Potions O.W.L. at half-noon on the last Friday of the term, face flushed and hair fluffed up from sweating over a cauldron for two hours. Despite the scent of lunch filling the entry hall, he climbs the marble staircase to wait by the Charms classroom, where Louis is finishing up his final N.E.W.T.

Up on the third floor, Harry tucks himself into a corner outside of the room, shoulders pressed into the stone walls, and tips his head back, lets his eyes slide shut while he waits. He lets his mind wander, and it flits from subject to subject - the chill radiating from the stone walls, question 287 on his History of Magic O.W.L., what he hopes is being served for lunch, and of course, the coming summer and whether or not he and Louis will get to spend time together.

For the past four months, Harry has tried to not let himself think about the fact that Louis is leaving and that he still has two years in the castle. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy being at Hogwarts - Hogwarts has been his home for five wonderful years. But after the past year, he can’t really imagine it without Louis around, and Louis has been oddly cagey about his plans post-Hogwarts. It makes something sharp and uncomfortable throb underneath his ribs, puts a bitter taste on his tongue, but the more Harry hedges Louis, the more he clams up.

Harry loses track of how long he’s been waiting and is so immersed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door to the classroom open, doesn’t register that anyone is in the hall with him until a body presses against his, fingers skating across his side, and someone purrs, “Well hello, gorgeous.”

Harry’s eyes fly open and meet Louis’, heavy-lidded and amused and so, so blue. A lazy smile curls the corners of Harry's mouth and he fits his hands over Louis' hips, holds him close so their chests brush on every inhale. “How did it go?”

Louis lifts up onto his toes to nuzzle the side of Harry’s mouth. Harry can feel his smile against his jaw and Louis murmurs, “Smashed it,” seconds before covering Harry’s lips with his own.

He lets Louis press him into the wall and kiss him, soft and lazy, while pleasure and happiness unfurl in his gut, spreading tendrils out through his body and down his limbs until they feel warm and heavy, tingling with want. He forgets where they are for a moment, lets his hands wander down to curve around Louis’ bum and squeeze.

Louis chuckles against his mouth, whispers, “Easy, love,” before he pulls back. He traces Harry’s confused frown with his thumb, rough pad sliding over Harry’s kiss swollen lips. Harry settles a little when Louis twines their fingers together with a mumbled _lunch, ‘m starving_ , and tugs him along down the hall toward the staircase. He follows, tripping a little on the hems of his robes, and they make their way down to the Great Hall.

The enchanted ceiling is a stretch of brilliant blue sky and gently swirling clouds that have Harry’s body thrumming with anticipation for long days spent outdoors doing absolutely nothing of consequence. He settles onto a bench at the Ravenclaw table next to Zayn, tugs Louis down on his other side. Lunch is an animated affair, students school-wide having just come out of their last exams for the term, and the excited chatter is a low, constant buzz throughout the room.

They’ve got the rest of the day free, the following night is the House Championship ceremony, then on Sunday they all pile onto the Hogwarts Express and head home. Harry tries not to think about how he and Louis only have two nights left together in the castle. Instead, he focuses on Louis’ hand on his thigh, the warm press of Louis’ shoulder against his own, and the pumpkin risotto he’s just piled onto his plate. He’s going to live in the moment, he tells himself firmly. Live in the moment. Right.

 

~~

 

As soon as the breathing of his roommates has evened out into snuffles and snores, Harry slides out of bed as quietly as he can and tip-toes for the door, tucking one of the coins Zayn had helped him fix with a Protean Charm, so that he and Louis could communicate meeting times within the castle, into the pocket of his robe. The stairwell and common room are both empty, much to Harry’s relief, and he makes it out of Ravenclaw Tower without a hitch.

The castle is nearly silent, the only noises the soft whistle of wind through cracks in the walls and the oddly comforting creaks and groans of the old stones settling in for the night. Harry makes his way down staircases and through corridors as noiselessly as possible, and doesn’t see a soul until he reaches his fifth floor destination.

He pauses outside a thick wooden door and whispers, “Lemon sherbert.” The door swings open silently on a large room dominated by a massive, sunken bathtub. The room is clouded with steam and the tub is already full to the brim with soapy water, bubbles rising high enough to obscure the oddly shaped taps that line one entire side of it.

A head of dark hair is just visible in the center of the tub, and Harry grins as he pushes the door shut behind him and starts to shed his clothing. Only once Harry slips into the water does the person standing in the middle turn around, eyes wide. Harry smiles lazily as he moves across the tub, comes to a stop an arm’s-length from the center.

“A bath is supposed to be a private affair, Harold. I might have to report you to the Headmistress for intruding.”

Harry shuffles closer, head tipped down so he’s looking up through his eyelashes. “Will you now,” he murmurs. He doesn’t wait for a response, just reaches a hand out and lets it slide over water-slick skin. He traces his fingertips over Louis’ collarbones, just barely clearing the surface of the water, trails them down his chest, and scratches his nails over Louis’ stomach before settling a palm in the small of Louis’ back so he can tug him forward.

The bathroom is dim, only a few of the torches lit, and Louis’ eyes look dark, shadowed and heavy-lidded as he moves through the water. Harry is already hard, skin tingling in anticipation when Louis comes to a stop centimeters away, their toes just brushing together on the floor of the tub. They stare at each other, heart thundering so loudly in Harry’s chest that he’s certain Louis must be able to hear it.

He looks at Louis hungrily for several long, suspended moments, never enough, before they snap together like magnets. Harry’s arms coil around Louis’ waist while Louis’ snake around his neck, hauling him in, and Harry groans into Louis’ mouth as skin slips over skin and their hips slot together.

One of Louis’ hands slides into Harry’s hair, fingers tugging at the curls as he angles Harry’s head and deepens the kiss. Louis pulls on it firmly, swallows Harry’s groan and does it again. With a sharp intake of breath and a flash of intent, Harry starts to walk Louis backward while they kiss, hard and desperate. He walks them back until he can press Louis against the side of the tub, can cage him in with his hands gripping the ledge, and Louis whimpers against his mouth when Harry rolls their hips together.

“Wait,” he pants. “Wait, wait.” Louis’ fingers scrabble over Harry’s shoulder blades as he pushes him back with his body, then lets go. Harry whines at the loss of contact, but his mouth goes instantly dry when Louis turns around and hauls himself up out of the tub.

Eight months. It’s been eight months since their first interaction, eight months since their first kiss, but Harry is still not over this. Still not over _Louis_ and his lovely angular face and his gorgeous, fit, curvy body, acres of tanned, gleaming skin, and Harry literally _aches_ to put his hands on him.

When Louis holds a hand out, Harry takes it without hesitation, lets Louis help him out of the tub. The floor is covered in a fine layer of soapy bath water and their feet slip on the wet tiles as Harry struggles to get out. He’s graceless as it is, but factor in a slippery floor and not even Louis can help him. They cling to each other, laughter bubbling up in Harry’s chest as he thinks of how they must look, naked and aroused and sliding around the bathroom floor like idiots.

Once they’ve regained their footing, Harry looks around, rubs his hands up and down his own arms to try and dispel the goosebumps that have settled over his skin. “Lou, why’d we...”

“Here,” Louis murmurs as he slowly sinks to his knees on the floor. Harry’s stomach lurches in anticipation, breath going unsteady, but then Louis tugs on his hand. Harry follows, uncertain but willing to go along with whatever Louis says because he trusts him, and he knows Louis wants him just as much, is just as desperate as he is, can see it in his blown-out pupils and his flushed cheeks. He settles on the floor, starts to cross his legs and get comfortable, but Louis places a hand on his chest before he can and pushes gently.

Confused, Harry looks Louis questioningly for a moment, watches the way the torch fire sparks in his eyes and dances along his damp skin, thinks he’s never seen anything more enticing. Louis doesn’t say anything, just keeps up steady pressure on Harry’s chest and looks back at him with dark eyes and a warm curve to his lips, and Harry lays back.

The tiles are _cold_ , and Harry shivers, goosebumps spreading from his arms all along his body; shivers again when Louis runs his palms from Harry’s shoulders to his ankles, eyes hungry and lips parted in breathless anticipation. Louis’ thumbs dig briefly into the arches of Harry’s feet, making Harry gasp, and then one hand is gripping his hip, the other wrapping around the base of his cock as Louis swallows him down.

Harry’s head thunks back against the floor and he flings an arm out, hand coming in contact with the hem of a robe that’s hanging from a hook on the wall. He fists his fingers in the fabric, toes curling down toward the tiles, eyes fluttering shut, and his back arches off the floor when Louis hollows his cheeks around him.

“ _Oh_ ,” he hisses out into the thick air, fingers twitching against the robe at the delicious heat of his mouth. He can feel the cotton stretching under his grip, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Louis’ tongue is swirling over the head of his dick and his lips are closing tight around him.

Only a short moment later, Harry whimpers when Louis pulls off, the chilly, misty air uncomfortable on his skin. He forces his eyes open when he feels the fabric of the robe shifting against his knuckles and the sound of something hard knocking against the wall. Louis is rummaging in the pocket of the robe, his other hand still gripping Harry, and Harry shifts against him, twitches his hips up into the loose circle of Louis’ fingers, needing friction. “Lou?”

Louis shoots him a quick smile as he settles back between Harry’s legs. The smile is small and fleeting, but Louis’ eyes are soft, and Harry’s breath catches in his chest at the tenderness written across Louis’ face.

“Yeah, love,” Louis whispers, eyes sparkling in the dim room, then he ducks back down. He slides his tongue along the underside of Harry’s cock, then closes his lips around the head. Harry shivers at the feel of Louis’ mouth, hot and tight around him, the velvet slide of Louis’ tongue along the underside of his dick. His eyes slip shut again and he locks his thighs around Louis’ shoulders to anchor himself, to hold Louis there.

Harry vaguely registers the snick of a bottle cap through the haze of pleasure that’s settled over him, and then cool, slick fingers are sliding between his legs, stroking over his hole. He gives a full-body shudder as one finger presses in, lips parting on a moan at the pressure, the sleek slide of Louis’ finger inside him.

Louis opens him up with his fingers, one two three, and his mouth on his cock until Harry is trembling, fingers slipping over Louis’ damp shoulders as he tries to pull him up. It’s too much and not enough. He wants Louis inside him, and if Louis doesn’t stop what he’s doing right now, Harry is going to come before Louis even gets the chance to fuck him.

“Louis,” he pants. “Please.”

He writhes against Louis, forces his legs to fall open around Louis’ shoulders, closes his fingers around Louis’ hair and tugs sharply. Louis pulls off him with a slick sound, wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and strokes, and Harry whines. He can feel Louis press a smile against his hip, and he tugs on Louis’ hair again, more demanding.

“Lou. Now, f-fuck,” he stutters as Louis swipes the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock. He pulls on Louis’ hair again. “ _Now._ ”

Louis’ fingers slide out of him and he bites back another whimper, shifts restlessly against the floor while Louis slicks himself up. Harry cranes his neck so he can watch, eyes traveling greedily over the curve of Louis’ back as he hunches over himself, settles his gaze on Louis’ hand as he lazily pumps it over his cock. He’s beautiful. Louis is beautiful, and Harry tells him so, whispers it out, reverent, into the misty air, and Louis smiles at him, crooked and warm. Harry only has to wait a moment, one long, excruciating moment, before Louis is crawling over him, arms bracketing his shoulders so he can look down at him.

Their eyes meet, and Harry licks his lips, impatience battling it out against a desire to draw this out and make it last. Impatience wins, though, and he reaches down to close his hand around Louis. Louis’ eyelids flutter at the contact, and then Harry is guiding him, lining him up so that when Louis nudges his hips forward, the head of his cock slips past the rim of Harry’s arsehole. Harry huffs out a breath and lets go, slides his hands up Louis’ back to wrap around his shoulders and tug him down.

He groans as Louis presses in, slow and hot and hard, the feel of Louis inside him so good his eyes burn and his teeth ache with it.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of revising, with hardly any time to be together, and it hurts a little, fingers never quite enough, but it’s a dull pressure, woven into the satisfying slide of Louis’ dick inside him, and it’s _Louis_ , and Harry only wants more more more. He wraps his legs around Louis’ waist, digs his heels into the small of his back, and Louis laughs a little, arms straining visibly as he tries to hold himself back.

“Easy, love,” he murmurs, but Harry shakes his head desperately, eyes squinted nearly shut, and he pants out Louis’ name. Sweat is beading on Louis’ forehead, the blue of his eyes reduced to a thin band around pupils blown wide with lust. His lips are swollen red, tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth in concentration, and the pressure in Harry’s chest is overwhelming.

He can’t breathe. He wants to wrap himself around Louis and never let go; wants to live inside this moment, with Louis buried inside him and on top of him and all around him; Louis’ lips on his neck, eyelashes against his jaw, thumbs stroking against his biceps. He clings to Louis, gasps out a breath when he eases back, pulls nearly all the way out, then snaps his hips forward. Pleasure sparks up his spine and they slide a little on the slick floor. Harry laughs into Louis’ shoulder, a thin note of hysteria threaded through it, and when Louis lifts his head to look down at Harry with concern, Harry weaves his fingers into Louis’ hair and tugs him down into a kiss.

They kiss, hot and open-mouthed, as Louis thrusts into Harry, feet slipping on the tiles. It’s slippery and a little bit rough with desperation, and eventually, Harry has to let go of Louis so he can reach behind himself and press his palms to the wall, stop them from moving any closer to it.

Louis pants into his mouth, thighs trembling against Harry’s as he fucks him. Harry can feel his orgasm wrapping around him like a blanket, and when Louis slips a hand between them and wraps it around his cock, it only takes a few pulls before it crashes into him, teeth sunk into Louis’ bottom lip as he spills over Louis’ fingers and his own belly.

His legs slide to the ground and Louis pulls out with a groan, settles back on his heels and wraps his hand, still slick with Harry’s come, around his own cock. Harry watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, studies the pretty flush that’s spread across Louis’ cheeks and down his heaving chest. Louis stares back, eyes dark and gaze intense, and when he bites down on his lip, hand picking up speed, Harry reaches down, slots his fingers down between Louis’ and helps him jack himself off. Louis‘ breath hitches in his chest with a soft gasping noise and he comes over Harry’s stomach, hand falling away and chin dropping down against his chest as Harry strokes him through his orgasm.

Louis falls forward, catches himself with palms on the floor and locked elbows, and Harry sits up, tugs Louis against him. Louis blinks up at him dazedly, hair falling limp over his forehead, and Harry’s heart thumps painfully in his chest as he buries his face against Louis’ shoulder.

“Love you,” he whispers into Louis’ skin.

Louis’ voice is amused and fond, fingers tripping up Harry’s spine as he says, “Post-coital declarations, Hazza?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tamps down on the disappointment welling up inside him as he tries not to read too much into the fact that he’s told Louis he loves him a handful of times over the past four months and Louis has never said it back. Instead, he focuses on relaxing his body, waits for Louis to go pliant against him, then he tips their bodies sideways and back into the tub.

Soapy, lukewarm water sloshes up over the ledge, and Louis comes up spluttering. His hair is hanging over his eyes and he has to spit out a mouthful of water, and Harry laughs so hard he doubles over, arms folded across his stomach.

“So that’s how you want to play it, then?” Louis says, voice low, and Harry stifles his laughter, skitters back as Louis starts to advance on him.

“Lou,” he says around a giggle, but Louis keeps coming. “Louis!” he shrieks when Louis lunges for him. He tries to dodge, but he isn’t fast enough, the water slowing him down as he attempts to whirl around and swim away. Louis catches him with arms around his neck, and Harry’s knees buckle and they both go under.

They wrestle for a few minutes, letting the water wash away sweat and lube and come, and finally, exhausted, they drag themselves out of the tub and over to their robes.

They dry off and dress quietly, pausing every few seconds to steal a kiss, brush a hand across a shoulder, tug on a lock of hair. Eventually, fully clothed, Harry pokes his head out the door to make sure the corridor is empty and they stumble out into the hall.

Harry hums contentedly as they walk to the staircase hand in hand. They pause at the landing and Harry turns to face Louis, squeezes their fingers together. Louis looks up at him through still-damp lashes and Harry steps close, close enough that they are pressed loosely together. Harry watches Louis tuck his wand into his pocket, weak torchlight glinting off the subtle sun-streaks in his hair, whispers helplessly, “I do love you, you know.”

Louis smiles and whispers back, “I know,” before rising onto his toes and wrapping his free arm around Harry’s neck. He tugs Harry in with his elbow and Harry goes easily, willingly, sighs into the kiss.

The kiss is soft and slow, lips moving lazily against each other. Louis trails his fingers through the curls at the base of Harry’s neck and Harry shivers, tightens his fingers around Louis’ hip. After a while, he pulls back, says reluctantly, “We should probably be off.”

Louis watches him for a moment, eyes unfathomable in the near-darkness, and Harry stares back breathlessly. Finally, Louis lets go of him, takes a step back. Harry untangles their hands and takes his own step back, already missing the warm pressure of Louis’ hand in his, the firm press of Louis’ body. Before he goes, he reaches out, lays the tips of his fingers along Louis’ jaw.

“Night, Lou,” he whispers.

“Goodnight love,” Louis murmurs back, and then Harry turns away and continues down the corridor, toward the opposite side of the castle and bed.

 

~~

 

When Harry leaves Ravenclaw Tower Saturday morning for breakfast, he finds Louis waiting in the corridor. It’s an unexpected surprise, and a small bubble of happiness settles in his belly, slowly expanding as he rakes his eyes over Louis in his muggle clothes - a soft grey t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of skinny jeans, ankles peeking from beneath the rolled hems.

“Louis,” he says happily, and Louis looks over from where he had been staring out a window at the early morning sun glittering off the surface of the lake.

“Morning, sunshine,” Louis says brightly as he pushes away from the wall, and the smile he gives Harry is cheery, all teeth and sparkling eyes. Louis holds a hand out to him, heedless of the other Ravenclaws filing out for breakfast behind them, so Harry twines their fingers together before they head for the Great Hall.

 

The day passes in a lazy haze. They spend most of it out on the grounds near the lake, enjoying the weather and relaxed atmosphere that’s settled around the school. Louis drops onto the grass beneath Harry’s birch tree where they’d first spoken, back against the trunk, and Harry crawls between his updrawn knees, settles himself back against Louis’ chest to watch Liam, Zayn, and Niall play with a fanged frisbee.

When Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s chest, twirls Harry’s necklaces around his fingers and nuzzles down into his hair, Harry hums happily and tips his head back onto Louis’ shoulder, angled so that he can press a kiss to the side of his neck. It’s a perfect moment, a perfect day, and Harry doesn’t want it to end. So he tightens his grip on Louis’ wrists, focuses on the pattern of Louis’ breathing, chest expanding and contracting against his back, lifts one of Louis’ hands to press a kiss to his palm and mouth _I love you don’t go_ into his skin.

 

Dinner that night is a raucous affair. To no one’s surprise, Slytherin wins the House Championship, and their table erupts into cheers. Louis catches Harry’s eye, his twinkling madly, like stars, like pinpricks of light in the dark, and Harry is seized by a sudden wave of sorrow and longing so heavy he can’t breathe. He gasps out a breath, returns the thumbs up Louis waves at him with a trembling hand, and slides his eyes shut once Louis’ looked away.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet during dinner, and he lets out a shuddery breath when Zayn wraps a hand around his knee between bites of rosemary chicken and squeezes, presses a kiss to his shoulder.

Once dinner is over and all of the food has disappeared, golden dishes sparkling clean once again, Harry is torn between wanting to seek Louis out for this last night together and wanting to go straight up to Ravenclaw Tower and wallow in misery in the comfort of his own bed.

He’s saved from having to make a decision when he looks over at the Slytherin table and Louis isn’t there. Most of the Slytherins have gone, presumably to celebrate in their own common room, and Harry sighs, shoulders drooping in defeat. He lets Zayn lead him out of the Great Hall with a hand in the small of his back, isn’t expecting it when, the moment they step foot into the entrance hall, someone calls his name.

“Harry!”

Harry wheels around to find Louis leaning against the wall by the stairs down to the dungeons. He looks like he’s been waiting for them, stance lazy and relaxed with his arms crossed over his chest. He pushes off the wall and drops them once Harry’s seen him, weaves through the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall to get to them. Harry presses his lips together and watches Louis approach, careful to keep any evidence of hope off his face. He knows Louis knows how much he likes being with him, but he doesn’t want to look pathetic about it. Louis is allowed to hang out with people other than him, especially when his house has just won the championship. He refuses to begrudge Louis this opportunity to celebrate, despite the timing.

Louis stops in front of them, reaches out to wrap his thumb and forefinger around Harry’s wrist in a loose grip. “Where are you going?”

Harry shrugs, looks off to the side. He’s afraid to speak, is afraid of what might come spilling out in spite of his good intentions. Zayn steps in, fits a protective arm around Harry’s shoulders. “We were just heading back up to the Tower.”

“Oh,” Louis says, voice small. His eyes dart back and forth between Harry and Zayn, like he’s not sure who to address. He’s silent for a long moment, eyes wide and confused. Finally, he says, “Well, there’s this. We’re having a party? In the Slytherin common room. I wanted to see... if you wanted to come. Both of you, of course.”

Harry shifts back and forth on his feet, suddenly uneasy.

“In the Slytherin common room?” Doubt colors his voice, but Louis nods emphatically, tightens his fingers still looped around Harry’s wrist.

“We’ve got firewhiskey and butterbeer, and the lads have nicked loads of food from the kitchens, and it’s -” He pauses, looks up at Harry with what looks suspiciously like hurt behind his eyes. “Do you... not want to come?”

Zayn takes over again, tightens his fingers against Harry’s side. “It’s just that we’re not Slytherins,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Louis laughs.

“Well, of course you’re not.” When Harry and Zayn just stare at him, he continues, “But you’re my -” his eyes dart to Harry, and Harry’s stomach clenches. “Friends,” he finishes lamely. “Liam is already down there, and I think he’s brought Niall. It’s not. I’m _inviting_ you. No one is going to mind. And if they do,” he adds, voice suddenly fierce, “I’m still Head Boy and there’s not a thing they can do about it.”

Harry bites his lip, studies the toe of his shoe for a moment. He’s going to say yes, of course he is. He’s never been able to say no to Louis, not really, and especially not like this. Not when it’s their last night in the castle, and he’s looking up at Harry with his breath held, like him saying no might crush him.

In the end, Harry nods once, looks to Zayn for confirmation. Zayn shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Louis’ answering smile is brilliant, teeth on display and eyes gone all squinty, and Harry feels a little of the tension melt out of him. He shakes the hand Louis is still grasping, uses Louis’ loosened grip to shift his hand, twine their fingers together, and says, “Let’s go, then. Can’t throw Niall and Liam to the wolves.”

Zayn snorts and says, “Or snakes, as it were.”

 

The Slytherin common room is dark, lined with lanterns that glow a luminescent green, and it takes Harry a minute to realize that the dark pressing up against the tall windows is liquid, not air. “Are we... under the lake?”

Louis smiles up at him and nods, tightens his grip on Harry’s hand as he pulls him through the throng of Slytherins. “It’s quite spooky at night,” he shouts over the noise of celebrators and the pounding bass of the Weird Sisters coming from someone’s Wizarding Wireless Network that’s floating near the ceiling.

They had lost Zayn almost immediately - he’d spotted Liam and left with just a pat to Harry’s shoulder, so Harry curls his free hand around Louis’ bicep as Louis leads him to the far side of the room. A long, low table has been cleared near the fireplace and loaded with bottles of butterbeer, carafes of firewhiskey, sweating jugs of pumpkin juice, and platters of all different sorts of finger foods.

Louis lets go of Harry’s hand so he can hold up a bottle of butterbeer and one of firewhiskey, raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Harry points at the firewhiskey, and Louis nods approvingly, turns to pour some out into glasses that have been stacked on the table. Harry takes the opportunity to study Louis.

The green glow of the lanterns lends a sickly tint to the skin of most of the people in the room, but not Louis. He somehow manages to retain his healthy brown tan, even in the odd lighting, and Harry reaches out without thinking, brushes his hand over the top of Louis’ forearm as he sets the firewhiskey back down on the table.

Louis gives him a curious look but smiles, passes Harry a glass and takes his own in hand.

“Wait,” he says before Harry can lift the glass to his lips, and Harry looks down at him, confused. Louis reaches his free hand out, tangles his fingers with Harry’s then nods. “Alright. Bottom’s up.”

Harry drains his glass in one go, gulps it all down and squeezes his eyes shut around the burn in his throat. The firewhiskey pools in his gut, roiling heat that unfurls, spreading like wildfire out through his body until his fingertips are tingling and his eyes are sparking, green fire in the green light. He sets his glass down, uses the hand still clasped in Louis’ to drag him closer. Louis stumbles against him, head tipped back so he can keep his eyes on Harry’s, and Harry murmurs, “Another, please.”

“Always so polite,” Louis says with a small laugh, then he nods, swallows hard, and Harry tracks the movement, watches Louis’ Adam’s apple bob nervously before he lets Louis go so that he can fill their glasses once more. After Louis passes him the refill, Harry waits for him to grab his hand, then he tips it back, opens his throat and lets it slide down smoothly, liquid fire that spreads through his veins and speeds his heart.

Harry sets his glass aside, shakes his head and tugs his fringe out of his eyes, then focuses his attention on Louis. Beautiful, bright Louis. Louis is watching him, eyes wide, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of his shirt, like he’s not sure what to do with Harry when he’s like this. Harry lets go of Louis’ hand, raises both of his to cup Louis’ jaw. He leans in close so he can murmur in Louis’ ear.

“Will your mates mind if I kiss you?”

He can feel Louis shiver, entire body trembling against his, and when Louis speaks it comes out as barely more than a whisper. “No.” He turns his head slightly, so that they’re sharing the same breath, says more firmly, “No. And if they do, I’ll hex them so fast they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Harry’s smile is feral, his mutter of _good_ deep and dark, and then he’s covering Louis’ mouth with his own in a bruising kiss. He hauls Louis up onto his toes with arms banded across the small of Louis’ back, sucks Louis’ bottom lip between his own before slipping his tongue into Louis’ mouth and curling theirs together. He focuses on pouring everything into the kiss - his doubts and his irritation and his foolish, blinding love.

He can feel Louis’ fingers digging into his shoulders, can feel Louis whimper against his mouth, and when he pulls back, Louis’ eyes are dark and heavy lidded, lips swollen red, and he looks drugged, positively wrecked.

Desire punches through Harry at the same time that satisfaction curls in his stomach, and when Louis murmurs, voice low and throaty, “Want to go back to mine?” Harry nods without even pausing to consider. He lets go of Louis slowly, lets him slide back down onto his heels, lets Louis fist a hand in the front of his shirt and tug him through the mass of people toward a staircase.

The staircase leads down, further under the lake, and Harry trails a hand absently along the stone wall, vaguely registers his surprise that the stones are cool and dry to the touch, and not slimy and damp like he would have expected.

Louis’ dorm is long and wide, with beds lining two and a half of the walls. The beds are high, with curving chrome headboards that Harry supposes are meant to abstractly resemble entwined snakes without being the stuff of nightmares, and heavy green curtains hang from the ceiling around each bed. Louis’ is tucked into the far corner, unmade, and Harry toes off his shoes and falls onto it gracelessly, shuffles back against the pillows and spreads his arms across them, legs splayed in invitation.

Harry watches, waits patiently while Louis takes a moment to catch his breath, while he stands at the side of the bed and just stares back at him. The air between them is charged, and Harry imagines if he could, he’d see a shifting line of electricity extended from himself to Louis, crackling like lightning in the dark room.

Louis finally knees up onto the bed, tugs the curtains shut around them and crawls over Harry so that he’s straddling him on his hands and knees. The corner of his mouth quirks up into an unexpected smile and he slides back on the mattress, settles onto his heels and places his hands on the insides of Harry’s thighs.

The air is thick with anticipation, and Harry blows out an unsteady breath as Louis presses on Harry’s legs, spreads them wider so that he can settle onto his belly between them. Harry watches, fingers twisting down into the sheets, as Louis grips the tops of his thighs, then leans in and rubs his nose along the line of Harry’s dick, already hard and straining against the zip of his trousers.

He waits for Louis to undo his fly, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the mattress, but instead Louis turns his head and mouths at him through his jeans. Harry lets out a gasp that slides into a moan when Louis presses the palm of his hand up under Harry’s balls, shivers as the heat from Louis’ mouth filters through his trousers and slides along his skin like a caress. Louis shifts up a little, presses the flat of his tongue over the head of Harry’s cock, licks at him through his jeans until the denim is damp, and Harry can’t stop trembling, arms straining with the effort to not reach out and wrap his fingers in Louis’ hair.

Finally, finally, Harry feels fingers on the button of his jeans, and he lets out a relieved little moan when Louis spreads his fly and tugs him out. He wastes no time, fits his mouth around the head of Harry’s cock and sinks down slowly, tongue curling along the shaft as he goes, and Harry has to drape an arm across his own face, set his teeth into his forearm to stop from making any noise.

He can already feel his orgasm creeping up, curling his toes down into the bunched up duvet, and his free hand slides its way into Louis’ hair anyway, fingers clenching and unclenching against his scalp. When he can’t hold back anymore, can’t even focus on the way Louis’ nose is brushing his belly, the way Louis’ fingertips are pressing into his thigh with bruising force, he tugs, sharp, on Louis’ hair.

Louis slides off with an obscene noise and Harry whimpers, screws his eyes shut when Louis says, voice gravelly, “What is it, Hazza?”

“‘M gonna come,” he mumbles against his own arm, and Louis laughs a little. Harry thinks he hears him mutter _good_ , but the thought is lost the second Louis closes his lips around him again, taking him as deep as he can. Harry chokes out a sob when he feels a hand slide into his jeans and pants, feels a finger brush down past his balls to ghost over his hole at the same moment the head of his cock hits the back of Louis’ throat. His throat closes up, eyes squeezed shut so tight he sees stars when he comes, back arching off the bed and knees locking around Louis’ shoulders. Louis pulls most of the way off as Harry trembles through it, until his lips are wrapped just around the head of his cock so he can tongue at the slit, making pleased little noises in his throat.

Harry collapses back against the mattress, pulls his arm up over his eyes as his breath shudders out of him. He can’t stop shaking, heart pounding in his ears, and he barely registers it when Louis climbs over him, can barely muster the energy to resist when he tugs Harry’s arm away from his face.

“Oh, babe,” he croons, and he swipes his fingers down Harry’s temples, catching the dampness there with the pads of his thumbs.

Harry takes a trembling breath, whispers, “Sorry.” Louis cocks his head, eyes questioning, and Harry says, “I didn’t want to come yet. I wanted -”

But Louis cuts him off, smooths his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip and shakes his head, then leans over his ear to whisper, “Don’t worry, love. I’m going to make you come again.”

Harry shivers involuntarily at the blatant hunger in Louis’ voice, the whispered promise, and watches with wide eyes as Louis pushes to his feet above him and strips off his shirt, tugs his trousers and pants off and drops them at the foot of the bed.

He falls to his knees again, bouncing a little on the mattress, and shuffles up Harry’s torso, cock hard and flushed and gorgeous. Harry reaches a hand out automatically, fingers itching to touch, but Louis bats it away, taps at his shoulders impatiently.

It takes Harry a moment to understand, but then his eyes widen, heart pounding double-time in his chest as he tucks his arms up against his sides so that Louis can climb over them, settle his knees on either side of Harry’s neck. He lifts his hands behind Louis, wraps them around the backs of his thighs and keeps their eyes locked, even as Louis reaches a hand out and presses his thumb to Harry’s chin so his lips part.

Harry opens his mouth obediently, eyelids fluttering when Louis takes himself in hand, nudges the head of his dick past Harry’s lips. He takes his time, thrusts shallowly into Harry’s mouth even when Harry clenches his fingers against Louis’ thighs in an attempt to urge him on. The half-hearted slide of Louis’ cock over his tongue isn’t enough. Harry wants more, wants Louis to actually fuck his mouth, not tease him with it.

But when his tugging on Louis’ thighs gets more insistent, Louis shakes his head, pulls out so he can lean across the bed and shove a hand out past the curtain. Harry can hear him rooting around in the drawer of his bedside table, mouths hungrily at the underside of Louis’ cock as he does. A moment later, Louis straightens up, drops a bottle of lube on the mattress then looks back down at Harry.

Harry stares up at him, at the wreckage of his quiff, his lidded eyes, mouth still swollen red and obscene, and he _wants_.

“Lou,” he says, voice pitched low, and Louis nods absently, as if he’s not sure what’s he agreeing to, but is agreeing nonetheless. But Harry slides his hands up to grip Louis’ bum, digs his fingers in to get his attention, and Louis snaps out of his daze.

“Yes,” he says. “Right.”

Louis crawls off of Harry so that he can undress. Harry has to peel his shirt and trousers off, fabric damp with sweat, and he laughs a little as he struggles to tug his jeans off over his feet. Louis ends up having to help him, muttering a string of curses as he yanks on the denim, and Harry sighs in relief once they’ve managed it. Then Louis grabs the lube and slides halfway down the bed, settles on his knees between Harry’s thighs.

Harry tries not to make any noise as Louis works him open with his fingers, focuses instead on the flicker of light on the ceiling above the bed, the shift of the curtains around them, the rustling of the bed sheets beneath them. He’s already getting hard again, the pressure of Louis’ fingers inside him enough to rob him of his breath, and he can’t help the noise he makes when Louis slides his fingers out, slicks himself up and pushes in, slow and smooth.

Louis presses small, hot, open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s shoulder as he thrusts in carefully, not wanting to shake the bed and make too much noise in case there’s someone else in the room. He rolls his hips against Harry’s, shifts his weight to one elbow so that he can reach back and tug Harry’s leg up around his back and better the angle. Harry has to turn his head into the pillow to muffle the noises slipping out of his mouth, and when Louis wraps a hand around him, he whimpers, still sensitive from his earlier orgasm but already so achingly hard.

It doesn’t take long, a few hard thrusts angled just right, and then Harry is coming for a second time, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his eyes wide, over-bright, and locked on Louis’. Harry slides trembling hands up into Louis’ hair and yanks him down into a voracious kiss. He sucks Louis’ tongue into his mouth, presses the tips of his thumbs to the skin just under Louis’ ears, and hums happily when Louis’ hips stutter against his and he gasps into his mouth as he comes.

Louis goes boneless against Harry as he comes down, kisses slowing to more of a languid brush of lips. Harry winces as Louis pulls out, watches the play of muscle under his skin as he reaches to the end of the bed and comes back with a wand.

Louis hunches over him, mutters, “Tergeo,” and Harry sighs as the scouring charm works, wonders vaguely why anyone bothers showering when they could just clean themselves with magic. He forgets his line of thought when Louis stretches over him, though, all floppy hair and sleepy eyes. Louis pokes at Harry’s necklaces, plucks the paper aeroplane out of the bunch and raises his eyes to Harry’s, closes his fist around the charm. Harry brushes his fingers through Louis’ fringe, sated and pleasantly sore and full of love, and they just lay there, smiling at each other, for a long moment.

After a while, Harry drops his hand, stretches his arms out and yawns, whispers, “I should probably go.”

“What?” Louis’ brow furrows and he locks his thighs around Harry’s hips, tightens his grip on the necklace. “No, why?”

Harry frowns and says, “This is the Slytherin dorm, Lou.”

“And? The curtains are drawn, no one can see us. You’re my boyfriend, and I want -” his voice falters, face falling a little. “It’s our last night in the castle. I want you to stay.”

Harry’s chest goes tight, an invisible band constricting around it so that he’s having a hard time sucking in a breath. In the end, he nods wordlessly, lips pressed tight together so he won’t say anything he might regret.

 

~~

 

Harry wakes up before the sun, while the water pressing against the dorm windows is still inky black, and slips out of Louis’ bed and into his clothes as quietly as possible. Louis doesn’t stir at the soft rustle of fabric, the metallic sound of zipper teeth coming together, from where he’s already starfished across the mattress, face turned away from Harry, and Harry can see the imprint from his necklaces on the skin of Louis’ shoulder blade from where he’d been curled tight around Louis’ back all night.

Harry presses his lips together, traces a fingertip, feather-light, down the curve of Louis’ spine, then grabs his wand and slips out of the room before he can change his mind.

The castle is quiet and dark, still asleep after a long night of celebrating and packing and saying goodbye. Even the portraits are dead to the world, small painted figures unmoving in their frames. The riddle the brass knocker gives Harry is silly, pitifully easy, and Harry is grateful. He stumbles wearily up the stairs to his dorm and falls face-down into his bed without even bothering to remove his shoes. There are only a couple of hours until he needs to be up for breakfast and last minute packing, anyway.

 

Harry wakes up a few hours later to complete bedlam. His dorm mates are running around in various states of undress, gathering up their belongings and flinging them haphazardly into their trunks while magical animals hiss and hoot irritably from their cages. He sidesteps the madness and takes a leisurely shower, grateful for his propensity toward planning ahead. His trunk has been neatly packed since Friday, Barnabas’s cage clean and open on his bedside table, ready for the trip home.

He runs the shower so hot it steams up the entire bathroom, soaps up his hair and scrubs at his body. As he’s rinsing off, he discovers ten fingerprint-shaped bruises on his thighs, lines his own fingers up with the marks and thinks about last night, about today, about the upcoming summer. He thinks about the way Louis had looked at him, the way Louis had touched him. About the way Louis won’t tell him his plans for the year, has never said he loves him, and Harry wonders if he’s lost his ability to read people, if Louis doesn’t care as much as Harry had thought.

Mood deflated, Harry shuts off the water and dries himself, pulls on trousers and a shirt and heads back into his dorm to pack what’s left of his belongings. It only takes him a few minutes and then he’s done, lock sliding home on his trunk, and he leaves it on the floor by his bed, climbs the stairs to Zayn’s room.

Zayn is sitting on his bed, surrounded by mismatched socks, and Harry can’t help but laugh at his frustrated pout. Zayn looks up at the sound and his eyebrows wing up, expression smoothing out into one of wicked amusement.

“Well, well. Where did you get off to last night, you big slag?”

Harry bites his lip and shrugs as he moves over to the bed, plays absently with a bright yellow sock that’s got a hole in the heel. “Are you really going to match and fold all of these? Just chuck ‘em in, you can sort them when you get home.”

Zayn frowns down at the socks scattered over his bed as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I suppose...” He sighs, tosses the sock he’d been holding up into the air. “Why do I even have so many bloody socks?” Harry snorts out a laugh and Zayn scowls at him. “Seriously, who needs this many socks? You know what, forget it.”

He stands up, scoops as many socks into his arms as he can, and dumps them unceremoniously into his trunk. Harry watches, amused, as he gathers up the rest of them and tosses them in, then slams the lid shut and locks it.

When Zayn turns around, Harry raises his eyebrows and holds out a hand. “Breakfast?”

 

The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall is a beautiful, cloudless blue, and Louis is already sitting at the Ravenclaw table when Harry and Zayn get there, shoulders slumped as he picks absently at a strip of bacon. Harry slides onto the bench next to him, wraps a hand around the back of his neck and squeezes.

Louis doesn’t look up from his plate as he mumbles, “You weren’t there when I woke up this morning.”

“Well no, I.” Harry frowns at Louis’ profile, confused. “I didn’t really think it would go over well, for a Ravenclaw to stroll out of the Slytherin dorms while everyone was up and running about the castle. Did you - did you expect me to be?”

Louis shrugs sullenly. “We’ve never gotten to properly sleep together, I had just hoped -”

He cuts himself off, blush riding high on his cheeks, and Harry blinks at him, heart swelling with adoration at this lovely boy and his sweet ideas. He knows Louis tries to hide behind his loud personality, all sparkling wit and over-the-top bravado, but Harry likes that he gets to see between the cracks sometimes. He turns sideways on the bench so he can wrap both arms around Louis’ shoulders and drag him against his chest, bury his face in Louis’ hair.

“Lou,” he mumbles, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Louis melts into him, and Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head before turning his own so he can rub his cheek against Louis’. “Come stay with me over the summer. We can properly sleep together as many nights as you want. My bed is smaller than the ones here, so it’ll be an interesting fit with a mattress hog like you, but I think we can make it work.”

Louis tips his head back, eyes nearly the exact same shade as the enchanted ceiling. “Hey, I don’t hog the bed, you arse, you’re just a bloody giant.” He pauses, worries his bottom lip with his teeth, then, “You mean it?”

Harry nods, leans in to rub the tip of his nose against Louis’. “Of course I mean it, you dolt. Wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. I’ll even write my address on a piece of parchment for you right now, if you want.”

“I can apparate, you know,” Louis says, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Harry blinks at him. “Right. Well I suppose that makes everything even easier.”

They’re interrupted by the morning post, owls swooping in overhead to deliver newspapers and last minute packages to the students. Harry catches Barnabas on his outstretched arm, tugs a roll of parchment from his beak and feeds him pieces of a sausage as he climbs onto his shoulder. Barnabas nibbles affectionately at his ear and preens his hair while he reads the letter - a checklist from his mum - and eats and chats to Louis and Zayn.

“Hiya, Barney,” Louis coos as he strokes the owl’s back, and Harry scowls.

“His name’s not Barney.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and goes back to talking to the owl, flashes a smirk up at Harry every time he says the name Barney.

When it’s time to head back up to their dorms and gather their belongings, Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and disappears down the stairs to the dungeons while Harry climbs the marble staircase toward Ravenclaw Tower, Barnabas swaying gently as he walks, head tucked under his wing.

 

It’s a bit mad, trying to find an empty carriage for the ride to Hogsmeade Station, but in the end the five of them manage to crowd into one, cages of various sizes crammed between their feet on the floor. Harry slides up against Louis’ side as soon as the carriage door shuts, tips his head onto Louis’ shoulder and tucks their hands together. Louis sighs and rests his head on top of Harry’s, presses his nose into his hair, and Harry’s stomach churns with an odd mixture of nervous butterflies, sadness, and contentment.

In six or so hours, they’ll be back in London and Louis will no longer be a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He’ll be a proper adult wizard, and Harry will still be a student, will still be required to spend nine months out of the year at Hogwarts, away from London, away from Louis, and he’s not ready. He clings stubbornly to Louis’ hand and tries to put the thought out of his mind for the time being.

Prefects have been relieved from their policing duties for this last train ride of the year, and Harry is grateful for it. As they board the Hogwarts Express, Liam walks ahead and finds them an empty compartment, slides the door shut decisively once they’ve all crammed their trunks and cages into the room and have settled into seats.

Zayn lies down on one bench with his head in Liam’s lap and his feet in Niall’s, and Harry and Louis claim the opposite side, sat sideways with their backs to the compartment door, Louis nestled between Harry’s updrawn knees. The ride is long and short all at once, stretches of tense silence interspersed with short conversations and sporadic food fights held with Chocolate Frogs and bits of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum in a weak attempt to alleviate the mood.

As the fields grow smaller and the houses grow closer, Harry can’t not think about it anymore, is seized with a sudden desperation so thick it clogs his throat and presses against the backs of his eyes. He slides his hand up Louis’ chest to cup his chin and turn his head, kisses him frantically as he tries to convey wordlessly how badly he doesn’t want this term, this little Hogwarts bubble, to end.

He thinks Louis gets it, thinks he understands with the way Louis’ hand lifts to clutch at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls so he can hold him there.

Harry doesn’t register anything but the insistent slide of Louis’ tongue against his until the train shudders to a stop, the familiar pillars and planks of Platform 9 ¾ visible outside the window, crowded with families pushing empty trolleys and waiting for their children.

The platform is madness as everyone tries to disembark and Harry loses the boys in the fray, has to get off the platform as quickly as possible, has to get out of the mad crush of people roaming around and calling out for their loved ones. He leans against the barrier, stumbles into King’s Cross, and spots his mum already standing with Zayn and his own mother in their usual spot by one of the ticketing booths. He’s happy to see his mum, of course he is, so he tries to push his disappointment at losing Louis to the crowd out of his mind as he drops his trunk on the ground, sets Barnabas’s cage down on top of it, and envelops her in a hug. He buries his face in her hair and tugs her in close, revels in her familiar warmth and the smell of home.

Harry drops his arms when she starts to pull away and turns to smile at Zayn’s mother, but Anne pats his side just as he’s opening his mouth to say hi, nods at something over his shoulder. “I think someone wants to speak to you, babe.”

Confused, Harry turns around and sees Louis approaching from across the way, gaze locked on Harry. He smiles awkwardly at his mother. “Give me a moment, mum, I’ll be back.”

But before he can go meet Louis partway, Louis is there, striding up to Harry’s side with a beaming smile and a hand stretched out toward Anne.

“Hi!” He says, voice bright. “I’m Louis, you must be Harry’s mum.”

Anne shoots Harry a baffled look, but takes Louis’ proffered hand. Harry watches in confusion as Louis chats to his mother, the picture of comfort and charm. Within minutes he has Anne laughing, and Harry shakes his head in amazement. He’s not too distracted by Louis’ effervescence to miss the calculating looks his mum keeps shooting him, but he ignores them in favor of watching her and Louis interact. Nothing about Louis’ stance or tone indicate discomfort, and Harry can’t work out what’s brought on this drastic change.

He’s disrupted from his thoughts by someone calling Louis’ name, and when he turns his head, he sees Louis’ mother standing over by the benches between platforms with his trunk and two small girls who are jumping up and down and calling out to Louis.

Grateful for the excuse to prise Louis away from his mum, Harry turns to them and places a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Sorry mum, Louis’ family is calling for him. I’ll just walk him over, be right back!”

He drags Louis away, but not before Louis can call out, “It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Styles,” and not before she can reply, “Wonderful meeting you as well, Louis, and please, call me Anne!”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my Louis,” Harry hisses as they head over to where Louis’ family is waiting. Louis shrugs nonchalantly.

“You wanted me to meet your mum, didn’t you?” Harry gapes at Louis, not sure what to make of him and his sudden one-eighty, and Louis shrugs again, says thoughtfully, “I guess I just stopped being afraid.”

Harry shakes his head in shock, but can’t help the small burst of pride in his chest. When he looks away from Louis’ profile, he realizes they’re drawing close to Louis’ family, so he stops walking. He opens his mouth to say goodbye, but when Louis notices he’s stopped, he turns around and frowns at Harry. “What?”

Harry shuffles his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “I should probably get back to my mum... your family is waiting for you.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, shoots a glance at his mum and sisters over his shoulder, then looks back at Harry. “Don’t want to meet them? My sisters will _love_ you.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart stutters in his throat, suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting Louis’ family despite the ordeal at Christmas and Louis having just introduced himself his mother. He coughs and shakes out his hair with nervous fingers, gaze darting back and forth between Louis and his sisters, who are bouncing up and down impatiently a few meters away. He says, voice slow and uncertain, “Alright, sure.”

Louis beams at him and reaches out unexpectedly to grab his hand. “So you won’t scarper at the last minute,” he says with a grin, then starts to tug Harry over to where his family is waiting. Harry shakes his head again as he stares at Louis’ profile, marveling at his newfound confidence, then drops his gaze in confusion when Louis suddenly lets go of his hand.

When he looks back up, though, he sees that Louis’ sisters have given up on waiting and are rushing forward excitedly. Louis drops to his knees and opens his arms, and Harry watches as the girls crash into him, babbling excitedly with their arms looped around his neck as they try to clamber into his lap.

It’s incredibly sweet. Harry watches Louis press kisses all over their faces, the girls giggling as his day-old stubble scratches at their cheeks; watches Louis listen with rapt attention as the twins tell him all about the drive down from Doncaster. He knows he must look a soppy idiot, standing there watching his boyfriend greet his sisters with wide eyes and his hands clasped together and pressed to his mouth, but he can’t seem to make himself look away, or at least look less of a love-struck fool.

Louis has to interrupt their story when they start listing all of the farm animals they had seen, sets them down and stands up. “Let’s go back to mum, girls.” He turns to look at Harry, smiles encouragingly and beckons him over with a jerk of his chin.

Harry follows, teeth set into his bottom lip and nerves fluttering in his stomach. He’s never had a problem charming parents before, certainly never had a problem with children, but the fact that it’s _Louis’_ mum and sisters is making him irrational. They stop in front of Louis’ mother, who smiles at Louis and reaches a hand out, smooths one of the twin’s hair down.

“Sorry I just ran off like that, Mum. This is Harry, I wanted to catch him before he left.”

Harry holds a hand out to shake, but Louis’ mum just smiles at him and says, “Hi Harry, I’m Jay, it’s lovely to finally meet you,” then reaches out and pulls Harry into a hug. Bemused, Harry hugs her back automatically, arms loose around her back, and she continues, “Louis’ told us so much about you.”

Harry rocks back onto his heels when Jay lets him go, looks at Louis with raised eyebrows. He’s surprised, had no idea Louis had written to his family about him, and he wonders what Louis has told them, makes a mental note to ask Louis about it later.

He’s still staring at Louis, who’s looking back steadily, when a hand tugs on the hem of his shirt, and Harry looks down into the face of one of the twins. “Hi, I’m Phoebe.”

Harry smiles, crouches down so he’s on her level. “Hi Phoebe, I’m Harry.” He turns to look at the other twin. “And you must be Daisy.”

Daisy nods, reaches a tentative hand out and brushes the tips of her fingers over the ends of Harry’s hair. “Your hair’s very curly.”

Harry laughs, reaches out to tug on a lock of hers. “And yours is very straight.”

“I know,” she says mournfully, and Phoebe cuts in, “Our friend Maureen from school has curly hair, and it’s even more curly than yours! And it’s red and it bounces when she moves.” She reaches a hand out, palm flat, and bounces it under the ends of Harry’s hair to demonstrate. “I asked her once how it got so curly, and she said her mum makes her eat all her crusts, so I started to eat my crusts too, but it didn’t work.”

“Well,” Harry says, leaning in conspiratorially, “you know, if you braid your hair and leave it in for a very long time, like a whole day or maybe longer, when you take the braid out your hair will be curly like mine for a little while. My sister taught me that trick.”

Phoebe looks back at her mother with wide eyes and Daisy pleads, “Oh, Harry, will you braid my hair, _please_!”

Harry laughs, and Jay and Louis step forward at the same time, hands outstretched and protests on their tongues. Louis says, “Girls, don’t ask Harry to braid your hair, he probably doesn’t know how, and we’re in the middle of a train station and his mum is waiting for him.”

But Harry shakes his head and looks up at Louis. “It’s alright, really. I used to braid Gemma’s hair all the time.” He turns to the twins. “Do you have rubber bands?”

“Here,” Jay says, tugs a couple of bands off her wrist and hands them to Harry. Harry can’t help blushing a little at the expression on her face - a mix of surprise and tenderness at the way Harry is treating her girls, so he looks away, focuses on the twins.

”Turn around, love.” The girls turn obediently, and Harry braids each of their hair in turn, winds the rubber bands around the bottoms of the braids, then leans back. “There you are. Just remember,” he says as they turn back around, patting at the braids happily, “You have to leave the braids in for a full day, longer if you can, otherwise it won’t work.”

The girls nod, eyes wide with excitement and adoration, and when Harry stands up and turns to Louis and Jay, Phoebe slides her hand into Harry’s and just holds it. Harry bites his lip around a pleased little smile, turns his head to look at Louis. His heart thumps painfully in his chest at the awestruck look on Louis’ face, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Well,” he says, “I should probably get back to my mum.”

Jay nods and says, “Of course,” pulls Harry into another hug with her chin tucked over his shoulder. “Please, Harry, come visit us anytime over the summer.”

“Oh, yes!” Daisy exclaims, and Phoebe nods, her hand still clasped in Harry’s. “We can show you our blanket fort -”

Phoebe interjects, “It’s no boys allowed, but we’ll let _you_ see it.”

Harry laughs, shoots a wide-eyed look at Louis as Daisy continues, “And you can meet Mr. Whiskers!”

“Our cat,” Louis explains, shaking his head in amusement, then he turns to the twins. “Girls, say goodbye to Harry.”

Harry crouches down so they can give him a hug, then mumbles a goodbye to Jay and lets Louis lead him off. They stop a few meters away, Louis’ hand on Harry’s wrist. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Harry shrugs, meets Louis’ eyes and says easily, “I wanted to. I like children, and I like you, so...” He trails off with another shrug.

Louis stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and expression indecipherable, then snaps into motion. Curves a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and yanks him in, crashes their mouths together. Harry has to steady himself with hands on Louis’ hips before he tumbles over, but he slips into it immediately, eyes sliding shut and world falling away as Louis kisses him breathless.

When Louis pulls back, he laughs sheepishly, looks around the station and scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry about that. I should...” He looks up at Harry through his lashes, reaches a hand out and smooths his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. “Hey, send me an owl when you’re ready for me to come over, alright?”

Harry just nods dumbly, brain gone a bit fuzzy, and Louis grins, leans back in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, whisper, “Bye, love,” and then he’s gone.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly after Louis. Isn’t even aware that’s what he’s doing until he feels a hand on his back. He blinks out of his daze, turns his head and meets his mother’s curious eyes.

“Well,” she says lightly. “Some friend, that Louis.”

Harry blushes bright red, ducks his head and mutters, “Oh Merlin, I’m going to murder him. Now I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He whirls around and stalks back over to his trunk, doesn’t wait for his mother to catch up before lifting it and Barnabas’s cage and heading for the car park.

He slides into the passenger seat and folds his arms across his chest, tries to convey with body language how _little_ he wants to talk about this, but Anne ignores him. Naturally.

“So. Louis.”

Harry frowns. “Mum, I don’t -”

“I can’t believe you told me he was just a friend. How long have you two been seeing each other? I know he’s the mate,” she fingerquotes, “you hugged at the train station last term. Is he the reason you were so miserable over Christmas?”

When Harry doesn’t answer, just stares determinedly out the window, she reaches across the gear shift and pokes him repeatedly in the side until he falls against the door, giggling helplessly. “Mum! Mum, alright, Merlin’s beard!”

She pulls her hand back, satisfied, and waits for him to continue. He heaves a sigh, spares her a withering glance before he says, “It’s been nearly four months.”

“Four months!” Anne exclaims. “You’ve never mentioned him once and you’ve been seeing each other for four months?” She lays a hand over her heart. “Harry.”

Harry winces. “It’s not... It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just wasn’t sure - and then he just walked up to you like it was nothing, and.” He huffs out a breath, brow furrowed. “Louis Tomlinson is a bloody enigma.”

“Oh, babe,” she coos, then reaches out, brushes her hand over his hair. “Your first love is always confusing, but it will get easier.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Harry groans, and he bats her hand away, drops his head into his hands in mortification.

Anne just laughs and says, “Alright, fine, I’ll let it alone.”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles into his palm, but groans again when she adds, _for now_.


	2. Chapter 2

Between revising for O.W.Ls and trying to spend as much time with Louis as possible, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the last few weeks of school, so Harry spends most of his first few days of the summer holiday sleeping, randomly interspersed with eating, playing with his cat Luna, and short bouts of unpacking.

He’s happy to be home, happy to not have classes to attend and exams to prepare for, but by Wednesday night he’s feeling antsy, ready to see someone other than his mum, sister, and stepfather. After supper, he sits down at his desk and tugs a piece of parchment out of a drawer, inks the peacock feather quill Louis had given him for Christmas and pens out a letter. He rolls it up and ties it closed with a bit of string and waits for Barnabas to get back from hunting.

He’s on his bed reading when the owl slips through the open window and lands at the foot of his bed. Harry strokes a hand down his head and rubs at his neck, smiles when Barnabas stretches his head out to give Harry better access. The owl hoots softly once he’s had enough, ruffles up his feathers and settles them, then blinks up at Harry expectantly with his enormous yellow eyes. Harry scrambles to get the letter off his desk, ties it to Barnabas’s leg when he holds it out obediently.

“This is for Louis, okay?” The owl stares at him and hoots, and Harry says with a smile, “I even wrote on there for him to give you a sausage when you arrive.”

Barnabas nips at Harry’s finger affectionately, then shuffles down the bedframe and takes off out the window and into the night.

 

Louis’ response comes three days later. Harry is sprawled out on a float in the swimming pool, fingers trailing absently through the water, when he hears the flap of wings and opens his eyes to see Barnabas perched on top of Robin’s grill with a letter tied to his leg. Harry scrambles off the float as quickly as possible, sloshes water up over the ledge of the pool as he takes off for the ladder, fighting anxiously against the viscosity of the water.

He’s panting by the time he climbs out, dries his hands hastily on a towel and pads over to the grill. Barnabas shies away from Harry’s dripping body, but he holds his leg out so Harry can retrieve the letter and takes off immediately when Harry says, “Go inside, Barnabas, mum’ll give you a cookie.”

He unrolls Louis’ letter with fingers trembling from excitement, breath shallow as his eyes drink up Louis’ spiky, untidy scrawl.

 

> _Aww, Hazza, you’re such a sap. Don’t worry though I’ve been thinking about you a lot as well, it’s weird not seeing your face everyday. Saturday sounds perfect say around noon? I hope Barney manages to get this to you before then otherwise you might have a bit of a shock!_

> _See you soon_

> _Louis xxxxx_

> _PS: Daisy and Phoebe haven’t stopped talking about you, I think they’re properly in love w/you mate. If you show up here I’m afraid there might be an all-out duel for your affections. (I’d win.)_

Harry clutches the letter to his chest, happy no one is out there to see him moon over a scrap of parchment, then gasps and flips his wrist over to look at his watch. Seven minutes to noon.

“Bollocks.” Harry springs into action, uses the pool net to fish the float out of the water, then pats himself dry and slips inside and up the stairs. He needs to wash the chlorine off himself and put some clothes on before Louis arrives. He pauses on the landing and calls down the stairs, “Mum! Louis is coming today, he’ll be here in -”

Harry drops his head against the banister as a knock sounds on the door. He hears his mother open it and greet the newcomer cheerfully, then call up, “Harry, Louis is here!”

He sighs, drapes the towel around his neck and says, “I’m upstairs! Second door on the left, Lou!” He walks into his room to make sure it’s tidy, then stands in the doorway of his bathroom, dripping steadily onto the tile floor, and waits for Louis.

When Louis appears in the doorway to his bedroom, his eyes sparkling, hair styled into a quiff, and a small bag clutched in his hand, it takes all of Harry’s self control to not stride over there and drag him close, kiss the smirk right off that pretty pink mouth. He jitters impatiently, cold from the bathroom tiles seeping up his legs, want thrumming through his body, and forces himself to say calmly, “Hey Lou.”

A massive smile breaks out on Louis’ face and he steps into the room, drops his bag by the door and takes a step closer. Harry watches Louis’ gaze flick back and forth between his eyes and his bare chest, watches him track the way his swimming trunks ride low on his hips and cling to his thighs. When Louis speaks, his voice is raspy, and Harry tries to suppress a shiver. “I guess Barney didn’t get here in time, then?”

Harry bites his lip and shakes his head, damp hair slapping wetly against his temples and neck. “‘Bout ten minutes ago.”

Louis takes another step forward, eyes locked on the cut of Harry’s hips. He licks his lips, and Harry groans quietly, takes a step back and puts his hand on the door handle. “I should really shower, I’ve got chlorine all over me.”

Louis darts a look up at Harry’s eyes, says, “I could use a shower.”

Harry groans again and tips his head against the door, looks up at Louis through his lashes. He’s wearing a fitted gray t-shirt with cuffed sleeves and tight denim cut-offs, and Harry _wants._ “My mum is downstairs,” he whispers. It’s a weak defense, he knows it, but he tries anyway.

Louis just shakes his head, then turns around and shuts the door to Harry’s bedroom, flips the lock and casts _Muffliato_ on the door. Harry watches, expression hungry, arousal pooling in his gut, as Louis stalks toward him, shedding layers as he goes. By the time he reaches Harry, he’s down to his pants, and Harry reaches a hand out, brushes the tips of his fingers through the light smattering of hair on Louis’ chest. He lets out a gasp when Louis grips his hips and drags him forward, closes his mouth over Harry’s in a greedy kiss.

It’s not even been a week, but Harry’s missed this, has missed Louis being just across the castle, or on the other side of the Great Hall, close enough for a quick snog beneath the marble staircase, a covert grope behind a suit of armor. He runs his hands down the smooth expanse of Louis’ back, tucks his fingers into the waistband of his pants to grip his bum.

“Wait,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ mouth, “Let me just.” He steps back and Louis whines, curls his hands around himself in the cold bathroom and watches Harry as he moves to turn on the shower. Within moments, the small room is filling up with steam, and Harry blinks furiously as he tries to focus on the shape of Louis over by the door. “Come on, Lou.”

Harry strips off his swimming trunks and slips into the shower, waits for Louis to slip in next to him before sliding the door shut and crowding him up against the wall. Louis hisses as his back touches the cold tiles, but he melts into Harry. Harry focuses on the little white stars where Louis’ teeth are biting into his bottom lip as he slides their bodies together under the spray. He can already feel Louis hard against his hip, and he rubs lazily against him just to elicit the little humming noise Louis makes.

They don’t have long, need to be downstairs for lunch soon, so Harry eases back enough to fit a hand around both of their cocks and jacks them steadily. Louis tips his head back against the wall and winds his fingers through Harry’s hair, content to let Harry do the work. It only takes a few swipes of Harry’s thumb along the underside of Louis’ cock before he’s twitching his hips into Harry’s fist, so Harry tightens his grip and increases his pace, wringing small, gasping noises from Louis on every slide of his palm.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Harry shifts his grip until he’s only got Louis in hand, works him fast, thumb over the head on every up-stroke until Louis is tensing against him and spilling over his knuckles, nails digging small crescent moons into his shoulders as Harry strokes him through it.

Harry watches as Louis takes a few shuddering breaths before opening his eyes, cheeks flushed pink and bottom lip bitten red. Louis uses his grip on Harry to tug him forward into a messy kiss, too much teeth and not enough finesse; slides his hands down to press into the small of Harry’s back. Harry hums in his throat at the slick slide of his dick against Louis’ belly, sets his teeth into Louis’ shoulder when Louis urges him on with hands on his back and a jerk of his hips. Harry pants into Louis’ skin as he ruts against him, languid rolls of his hips devolving into jerky thrusts as his orgasm closes in on him. He pulls back as he feels it coiling around him like a spring, gets his hand around himself and pumps once, twice, then comes with a gasp, eyes fixed on Louis’.

Louis waits for him to ride it out, eyes wide and impossibly blue, then reaches out and drags him forward with a groan; fits his lips over Harry’s and licks inside, strokes their tongues together before sucking Harry’s into his own mouth.

Harry breathes out harshly through his nose as he closes his hands around Louis’ hips and slots their legs together, presses him into the wall and slows the kiss down until they’re just rubbing their lips together, eyes open and staring blurrily at each other. Harry pulls back with a sigh, ducks back in to press a brief, smacking kiss to Louis’ mouth.

“Okay, real shower time,” he murmurs, then shuffles back and reaches for the shampoo bottle.

They soap themselves up in comfortable silence and take turns rinsing off, sneaking quick peeks at each other every few seconds and sharing small grins. When they’re both clean, Harry shuts the water off and steps out to grab a couple towels, bundles Louis into one and drops a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“You’ve swaddled me like a baby,” Louis grumbles as he fights to get his arms out of the towel cocoon, and Harry giggles and pokes a finger into his cheek.

“You’re _my_ baby.”

Louis rolls his eyes and swats at Harry’s hand, mumbles, “Idiot.” But the smile he tries to hide by looking down at the floor is soft and warm, and when he slips past Harry to get to his duffle bag, he rubs a hand down his arm. They dress quickly and Harry needles at Louis until he agrees reluctantly to style his hair again to allay suspicion. Harry grabs Louis’ hand before they head downstairs, ignores the nervous flutter in his belly as he twines their fingers together and tugs him close.

 

They spend the first two days at Harry’s lazing around in the swimming pool on floats, hands clasped and trailing through the water as they drift. Harry ends up mildly burnt on Sunday, but that night, Louis lays him out on his bed and rubs lotion into the burn that leaves his skin tingling and his dick straining against his boxer briefs. Louis turns him over and pulls his hips up, fucks him gently with his face pressed into a pillow to muffle the noises that slip out of him. They fall asleep with Louis curled around Harry’s back, hand wrapped around his necklaces and face tucked into the crook of Harry’s neck.

 

The next day, while Harry is helping his mum prepare lunch, Louis finds the shed in the back garden that holds a few gardening tools that Robin has collected, an old deflated basketball, and several older Nimbus model brooms.

When he hears the back door slide open, Harry turns around from where he’s peeling potatoes and grumbling about not being able to use magic yet. Louis traipses into the kitchen holding two brooms aloft, a look of triumph on his face, and Harry is immediately wary.

“Lou.....”

“You didn’t tell me you had brooms!”

“Louis, we’ve been over this. I don’t fly. Really, it’s better that way.”

Anne hums her agreement from where she’s mixing something fragrant in a saucepan. “I’m an alright healer, but I’d really rather not have to take a trip to Saint Mungo’s today, dear.”

Louis’ face falls into a pout and Harry pinches his lips together in defiance. When Gemma wanders downstairs, Louis beams at her. “Gemma, beautiful Gemma.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Would you like to go flying after lunch?” Louis bats his eyelashes at her, and she rolls her eyes but laughs.

“Alright, but only if you don’t make Harry join us. We don’t need another trip to Saint Mungo’s.” She shoots Harry an amused glance. “It’s been a few years, but I reckon they’d still recognize him on sight.”

Harry flushes and glares down at the potato he’s currently mauling. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side, Gem.”

Gemma just snorts and starts setting the table.

 

Louis leaves on Wednesday. Harry chews on his lip as he watches Louis set his bag on the ground and tuck his wand into his back pocket in the front garden. Luna is weaving between Louis’ legs, silver eyes gleaming in the sunlight, so Louis crouches down briefly to scratch behind her ears, then straightens. When he looks up, Harry blurts, “When am I going to see you again?”

Louis’ expression softens and he steps carefully over the cat and tugs Harry into his arms, nuzzles into his hair. “Come to mine.” He leans back, presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead, his cheek. “Soon.” Brushes a kiss over his other cheek and across his eyelids. “Next week.”

Harry nods, fists his hands in the back of Louis’ shirt as he covers Louis’ mouth with his own. They kiss desperately, clinging to each other like lifelines, and when they ease apart, Harry laughs, a little of the tension in his chest easing, and mumbles, “You’d think we were never going to see each other again.”

Louis shrugs, and Harry’s heart stutters when he trails a gentle finger down the bridge of Harry’s nose. “Monday. Come Monday. My house was connected to the floo network last week.”

“What?” Harry frowns. Muggle houses were hardly ever connected to the floo network. Unless... “Did you get a job, then?”

Louis shrugs and says evasively, “I’ve got a few things lined up, nothing for certain yet. Don’t worry, babe.” He pats Harry’s hip and steps back. “Monday, alright?”

Harry nods and watches Louis pick up his bag and tuck it under his arm, then take a graceful spin and disappear into thin air. He blows out a breath, scrubs a hand through his hair as he puzzles through Louis’ answer about a job. Whatever is going on, Harry knows he’s not telling him something, is being deliberately vague, and it’s driving him mad.

With a shake of his head, Harry bends down and scoops Luna into his arms, then heads back toward the house, deciding it’s high time he asked for Zayn’s input.

 

~~

 

The rest of the week passes in slow motion as Harry waits for Zayn’s response and for Monday to arrive, and Gemma wastes no opportunities to tease Harry about moping.

“What are you going to do when you have to go back to school and Louis won’t be able to just apparate over?”

Harry huffs out a breath and glares at Gemma, trying to convey just how little he wants to talk about it with her if she’s just going to make fun of him for it. “I’m trying not to think about it. Stop reminding me.”

It’s Saturday and he’s curled up on the sofa with Luna in his lap, watching a film on the muggle television. It’s not very captivating, though, some old black and white number that’s making his eyelids droop, so when Gemma settles onto the sofa beside him and wraps her arm around him, Harry drops his head onto her shoulder and just starts talking.

He feels a bit better afterward, when Gemma squeezes his knee and says, “Look Haz, I don’t know why he’s being cagey, but that boy more than fancies you.”

Harry bites his lip around the swell of hope in his chest, locks his gaze on a stripe of afternoon sunlight that’s painting the wooden floors white. He can just make out the dance of dustmotes and the gray shift of clouds, and he feels his nerves ease a little, says in a small voice, “You think?”

He can practically feel Gemma roll her eyes, but when she says, “You’re an idiot,” it comes out fond.

 

~~

 

On Monday, Harry can’t stop jittering nervously. He packs his bag, then takes everything out and refolds and repacks it, decides he absolutely must have a shirt his mum had washed the night before and goes downstairs to get it. When he gets back to his room, Luna is curled up in his duffel, staring up at him with her silver eyes, and Harry sighs, scratches under her chin before lifting her out of the bag and adding the shirt.

Once he’s ready to leave, Harry makes his mum read him Louis’ address one more time before taking a pinch of glittery white powder from a jar on the mantle and tossing it into the fireplace. The flames immediately turn a shimmering green, and Harry watches them dance nervously for a moment before he takes a deep breath, shoots his mum an apprehensive look, then steps into the fire.

By the time he gets to Louis’ place, he’s dizzy and his hand hurts from clutching his bag too tightly. He stumbles blindly out of the fireplace and into a solid body with an _oof_. When he blinks his eyes open, he’s looking down into Louis’ smiling face, blue eyes sparkling with amusement and excitement, and a smile stretches across his own automatically.

Louis pokes a finger into his dimple and says, voice soft and happy, “Hi!”

Something settles in Harry’s chest at the same time that a rabble of jittery butterflies takes up residence in his stomach, and he whispers, “Hi.”

Louis drapes his arms around Harry’s neck and rubs their noses together. “We have about thirty seconds until the monsters figure out you’re here.”

“Better make the most of it, then,” Harry murmurs, then he tips his jaw forward, slides his tongue over Louis’ bottom lip and, when Louis’ lips fall open on a sigh, licks inside. He’s just easing his hands down to grip Louis’ bum when he hears the sound of feet on the stairs and Louis eases back with a groan.

“Here we go.”

The twins crash into the room with shrieks of Harry’s name and latch onto a leg each, small bodies vibrating with excitement.

They spend most of the day in the game room, playing with the girls and letting the twins climb all over them. Daisy and Phoebe convince Harry to let them braid his hair. The four of them play board games, squeeze themselves into the blanket fort, and groom the twins’ dolls, and when Louis’ had enough, they settle on the sofa, a twin on either side of Harry and Harry’s arm across the back of it, fingers sifting absently through Louis’ hair, and watch a film.

After dinner that night and a brief chat with Louis’ mum, Louis tugs Harry into his bedroom, their first moment alone all day, and locks the door with a sigh. Harry grins, tired but happy, and shuffles forward, presses Louis back against the wood of the door with his hands on Louis’ sides. He nuzzles into the crook of Louis’ neck and breathes him in, rucks Louis’ shirt up a bit so he can stroke his thumbs over the skin of his hips. It’s cool and quiet in the room, away from the hectic pace of the twins and curious glances of the two older sisters, the knowing smiles from Jay. It had been a fun, if draining day, but Harry’s glad for the peace, the quiet stillness of Louis’ room and the freedom to touch and look at him as much as he pleases.

“Are you going to be very disappointed if I tell you I’m exhausted?”

He feels Louis laugh, a rumble against his chest. “Absolutely not. I’m properly knackered, don’t think I could even work up the energy for a proper snog right now.” He pats Harry’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed, babe.”

They strip down to their pants and brush their teeth, hips knocking together as they aim foamy grins at each other in the mirror. Faces clean and breaths minty fresh, Harry watches Louis shut the lights off, then take a running leap onto his bed and burrow immediately under the covers. He bites his lip as he eyes the mattress set up on the floor, then looks uncertainly over to where Louis’ eyes are peeking out from under the duvet, back to the mattress.

“Haz?” Harry’s eyes flit back to Louis, his voice muffled by the blankets as he says, “What’re you doing? Come on.”

Harry walks over to the mattress on the floor, but as he starts to lower himself onto it, Louis tosses the covers back, shifts up onto an elbow.

“What are you doing?”

Harry pauses, one knee on the mattress and hands reaching to pull back the covers. “Getting in bed?”

Louis frowns. “Are you not going to sleep up here with me?”

“Oh.” Harry shifts his weight onto his other knee, reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t sure... this was down here, so I thought.”

“My mum,” Louis explains simply.

“Oh.” Harrys stands up with a sheepish smile and skirts the mattress, pads over to the bed and crawls under the covers when Louis holds them up. Louis turns onto his side facing Harry, and Harry slides their knees together, jumps a little with Louis presses icy toes against his ankle.

“I’ve never had a boy in my bed before,” Louis says with a sly grin. His eyes are gray in the darkness, only the faint moonlight seeping through cracks in the curtains to illuminate the room. Harry reaches his hand out, curls it around the side of Louis’ neck and thumbs over his jaw, smiles when Louis reaches a hand up to wrap loosely around Harry’s wrist, the tips of his fingers pressed into Harry’s pulse point.

“You were brilliant today,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for only Harry to hear. Harry shrugs, embarrassed by the praise, but Louis squeezes his wrist and insists, “No, really. There’s not many teenage boys willing to spend an entire day with two six year-olds. You’re kind of wonderful, Harry Styles.”

Harry sucks in a breath, imagines himself breathing in Louis’ words and pressing them close to his heart, filing them carefully away with all of the other lovely moments he’s stored up over the past nine months. He shifts his head on the pillow until the tips of their noses are brushing and he has to practically cross his eyes to keep them on Louis’.

“You’re not so bad, yourself, Lou.”

There’s a pause, a long, slow moment where they just look at each other, moonlight pale across the skin of Louis’ cheek and glinting off of Harry’s eyes, and then Louis tilts his chin up, brushes his lips over Harry’s in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“Goodnight, Haz,” he whispers, then settles back onto the pillow, lets his hand go slack on Harry’s wrist and his eyelids flutter closed.

Harry watches him quietly for a moment, the shadows his eyelashes cast over his cheekbones and the slight part of his lips, before he leans in to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Night, Lou.”

 

~~

 

Jay sends all four of the girls to friends’ houses the next day so that Harry and Louis can have a break. They have a bit of a lie-in, curled together in Louis’ bed as the sun bathes the room in a pretty glow and turns Louis’ skin to gold.

Harry wakes up quietly, blinks sleepily at the unfamiliar room, then turns to look at Louis, watches the easy rise and fall of his chest, the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale, the way his fingers are wrapped around the edge of the duvet where it’s slid down around their hips. He looks so lovely, unearthly, like a creature from one of the tales his mother used to tell him as a child. A beautiful creature meant to lure unsuspecting wanderers off the path and into the woods, or down into the depths of a lake, off the edge of a cliff. The bright wisp of fire in the lantern of a hinkypunk, a flash of light on a mermaid’s tail, the spun gold of a veela’s hair.

He wakes Louis up with his mouth around his cock, presses his fingers into Louis’ hips and swallows around him as he comes.

They make breakfast together - and if Louis helps it along a little with a flick of his wand, Harry pretends not to notice - and eat it in comfortable silence, eyes on each other and small, satisfied smiles curling their lips.

After they’ve dressed, Louis tucks his hand into Harry’s and leads him out to the back garden. Harry peers around at the garden, the large expanse of grass with flower beds lining the fence and a few toys scattered around. It’s not much different from a wizarding family’s garden, he supposes, not sure whether he should be disappointed or not. He watches Louis walk over to a ball, white with black pentagons, watches in curiosity as Louis rests his foot on the ball and looks over at Harry expectantly.

“Have you ever played footie?”

Harry steps closer, cocks his head in confusion. “Footie?”

“Football,” Louis says as he points down at the ball underfoot.

Harry bites his lip and shakes his head. “No, sorry. Ah, I’m not very sporty, though, I’m not sure -”

“No worries, I’ll teach you,” Louis says with a grin. “It’s loads of fun, I promise. C’mere.”

He holds a hand out to Harry. Harry hesitates for a moment, but Louis just looks at him with an adorable mixture of excitement and amusement, so Harry moves closer, lets Louis thread their fingers together and explain the rules.

 

As predicted, Harry is rubbish at football.

“I’m rubbish at football,” Harry pants up at the sky from where he’s lying on the grass. He’s sweaty and his body aches from all of the tumbles he’s taken, but Louis keeps telling him he’s doing brilliantly, so he takes the proffered hand and lets Louis haul him to his feet for what must be the dozenth time in just over an hour. He shoves his hands onto his hips and says, “Not that you’re not a good teacher, but I just don’t think I’m meant for this sport, mate.”

Louis just laughs and brushes a kiss across his cheekbone, licks his dimple and swats his bum. “Nonsense. No one is perfect the first time they play, babe, trust me.” He hesitates, says casually, “If you want to stop, though, we could...”

Harry bites his lip at the hopefulness in Louis’ expression. Not wanting to disappoint Louis, he shakes his head, grins when beads of sweat go flying and land on him. Louis makes a show of wiping them off disgustedly, so Harry snaps his arms out and drags Louis against him, then ducks his head and rubs his dripping face all over Louis’ face and neck. He laughs at Louis’ squeals of indignation and squeezes him closer, buries his face in Louis’ shoulder briefly before letting go and stepping back.

“Okay, football master. Teach me how to be a star.”

 

By the time they traipse back into the house, they're both dripping with sweat, limbs swinging loosely at their sides as they climb the stairs to Louis’ room. They strip off, clothes left in a forgotten heap, and clamber into the shower together, let the hot water wash away sweat and grime and soothe their aching muscles.

“Well,” Harry says, voice echoing off the tiles before being swallowed up by the thick, steamy air. “I think it’s safe to say I’ll never be a proper muggle football player.”

Louis giggles and rubs a comforting hand across Harry’s shoulder. They’re both slick and warm, but Harry is too weary to do anything about the way the water is plastering Louis’ hair to his forehead, the way it’s beading on the skin of Louis’ shoulders and running in wayward rivulets down his chest, like tiny rivers. “Well, practice makes perfect, as they say.”

Harry groans and tips his head back against the shower wall, slides his eyes shut. “Can we at least leave off till tomorrow?”

He feels fingers brush his damp hair off his forehead. “Of course.” The water shuts off, then Louis is tapping a finger against Harry’s stomach. “Come on, let’s get dressed and go relax and put on a film.”

They slip on baggy t-shirts and joggers and pile onto the sofa in the salon downstairs. Louis turns on a film - Harry’s not really sure what it’s about, because the moment they stretch out, Louis on his back and Harry nestled between his body and the back of the sofa, head pillowed on Louis’ chest, he falls asleep.

 

Harry only wakes up when he feels Louis stirring underneath him. Judging by the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the windows, it's late afternoon, sun starting to edge toward the horizon and bathing the room in a soft orange glow.

He grins into Louis' shirt when he makes smacking noises with his mouth, but schools his expression into one of sleepy contentment, not a trace of amusement visible, when Louis lifts his head off the cushion to look down at Harry.

"Mmmm, morning babe."

Harry can't stop the grin that stretches back across his face at that. "'S not morning, love." He tips his wrist so he can look at his watch, then props his chin on Louis' chest. "It's gone six."

Louis hums and Harry feels the vibrations of it under his chin and hands, his own chest, all the way down to his toes. When Louis fits a hand into his hair and starts tugging absently at the strands, he can’t help the way his breathing goes a bit thick, the way his eyelids droop and his fingers and toes start to tingle.

He feels it, feels the moment Louis realizes what he’s doing to Harry. Feels it in the way Louis’ body goes taut, alert, the way his fingers tighten in Harry’s curls and give a sharper tug. “C’mere. Up here, Haz.”

Harry goes willingly, shuffles up the cushion and lays his mouth over Louis’. Louis hums against Harry’s lips, then parts his, lets Harry take control of the kiss. More than eager, Harry brings a hand up to Louis’ jaw, tilts his head a bit to improve the angle and strokes their tongues together, eases back to nibble on Louis’ bottom lip. He can feel Louis’ hands roaming his back. They slide up to cup the wings of his shoulderblades, fingertips digging into the grooves around the bones, then down, tracing the dip of his spine. He presses them briefly over Harry’s bum, then shoves them up the back of his shirt, murmurs, “Mmm, you’re so warm.”

Harry smiles against Louis’ mouth, slides a hand down to curve around Louis’ side. He slots his fingers into the spaces between his ribs, absorbs the heat rolling off Louis in waves as he dips his head to mouth at the side of Louis’ neck. He’s just setting his teeth into the muscle at the juncture of his shoulder when he hears a soft, “Oh!”

He jerks his head up to see Louis’ mum standing in the doorway, face flaming red and eyes wide with shock. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean - I’ll just.”

She whirls around and rushes out of the room and Harry drops his head, rolls his forehead over Louis’ collarbone and groans. “Your mum is going to hate me now.”

Louis laughs and slides his hands further up Harry’s back, shirt bunching up around his wrists as he goes. “No she won’t, don’t be silly. We were just kissing.”

Harry lifts his head to stare down at Louis. “I’m on top of you, Lou. Your hands are up my shirt. I had my mouth on your neck.”

“At least we were clothed.” Louis grins cheekily at Harry and Harry rolls his eyes, huffs out a sigh of frustration and amusement.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Louis grins, pushes Harry’s hair off his forehead. “Tell me something I don’t know, love.”

 

~~

 

They spend the next two days alternating between entertaining the twins and playing football in the garden. On Friday, Daisy and Phoebe have a slumber party at a friend’s house, so after Lottie and Felicite have gone to bed, Harry and Louis curl up on the sofa in the game room and turn on the telly.

The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from the weak glare of the television and the faint glow of the moon coming in through the wall of windows. They’re watching something about dating, something with a laugh track, Harry’s not really sure. He’s more focused on every point of contact between him and Louis. The press of their shoulders, the brush of Louis’ hair against his temple, the way Louis’ leg is hooked over his knee.

He drops his hand to Louis’ thigh, traces the inseam of his trousers absently, nails catching on the denim, as he stares blankly at the television. He can feel Louis getting fidgety beside him, concentrates on riling him up a bit more by increasing the pressure of his fingers and sliding them slowly higher, further up the inside of his thigh until Louis’ breathing is ragged, filling up the spaces between the over-the-top laugh track and the characters’ grating voices.

Harry starts to turn to Louis, says, “Lou -” but he’s cut off when Louis grabs his hand and drags him up, eyes wild as he casts them about. They land on something in the corner, and before he knows it, Louis is dragging him into the twins’ blanket fort.

Harry lets out a strangled laugh as Louis flops onto his back on the pillows, stares up at Harry expectantly. “Louis, I don’t think this is appropriate -”

“I’ll wash the sheets tomorrow, just come _here_.” He fists his hands in Harry’s shirt and drags him down, crashes their lips together at the same time as he wraps his legs around Harry’s thighs. Louis groans, long and low, when Harry settles over him, and Harry curls his fingers down into the pillow beneath Louis’ head. This is weird, Harry thinks, snogging in the twins’ fort. He’s going to stop it, he is. As soon as he manages to get Louis’ tongue out of his mouth, as soon as he manages to wrench away.

But then Louis digs his heels into the gap between Harry’s thighs, tilts his hips up so his erection is pressing against Harry’s belly, and his thoughts scatter. He digs his toes into the cushion at his feet, uses it to shuffle up a few inches until their hips are aligned, the hard lines of their cocks pressed together between them. Harry shudders out a breath, clenches his fists around the pillow as he rolls his hips down against Louis’.

“We need,” Louis gasps out, eyes staring, unseeing, at the pink fabric ceiling above them. “We need to be quiet so we don’t wake Lottie and Fizz.”

Harry grates out a laugh that turns into a growl when Louis hitches one leg higher, uses it to press him impossibly closer. He fits his mouth over the fluttering pulse point at the base of Louis’ neck, uses a hand to jerk the collar of his t-shirt aside and nibbles down his collarbone, sucks a bruise over the knob of it where Louis will still be able to hide it with a shirt. His trousers are too tight, constricting, but their cocks are perfectly aligned and the friction, the pressure when they grind their hips together, makes him shiver with pleasure, makes his scalp tingle and his eyelids flutter, makes his toes curl into the pillows and his breath stutter against Louis’ shoulder.

He’s been there for three nights, but they’ve gone to bed every night too exhausted to do much more than kiss lazily under Louis’ blankets, and Harry is embarrassingly desperate.

“Lou,” he whispers. “I’m not.” He gasps as Louis jerks his hips up sharply, the metal of his zip dragging against Harry’s cock through denim and making him tremble. “I’m not going to... to last. I’m -”

Louis nods frantically, mouths at the shell of Harry’s ear and whispers back, “Me too. Do it, Haz.” He digs his heel into Harry’s bum and ruts up against him frantically, fingers clutching wildly at Harry’s shirt, his hair, tucking into his belt loops and pulling up so the seam of Harry’s trousers pulls tight against his balls. Harry moans against Louis’ chest, fingers scrabbling over the slick pillow coverings, and he thrusts hard, once, twice, then gives a full-body shudder and comes in his pants.

He whites out for a moment, unaware of anything but the thickness of his own breathing, his heart rabbiting in his chest, the sweat pooling in the small of his back. When he comes down, he can still feel Louis hard against him, so he shifts to the side a little so Louis’ cock fits into the groove of his hip and presses down, lets Louis rub up against him until the soft noises he’s making blur into one long keening noise and he’s shaking apart, legs firm around Harry’s hips and eyes squeezed shut so tight that a tear slips out, slides down his temple and into his hair. Harry watches it gleam in the glow from the night light plugged into the wall behind Louis’ head, slides his hands up under Louis’ neck so he can hold him as he shivers through his orgasm, presses soft, open-mouthed kisses along his shoulder, the side of his neck, up his jaw to his mouth.

They breathe together for a couple of minutes, mouths aligned, while they calm down, heart rates slowing steadily until Harry feels like he can finally breathe normally. Louis’ legs drop from around Harry’s waist and he goes boneless, eyes sliding shut with a soft groan. Harry takes a moment to look around now that the blind urgency is gone, notes the Disney princesses printed on the blankets surrounding them, the Hello Kitty night light, the frilly pink and purple pillows beneath them, and bursts into sudden, hysterical laughter.

Louis’ eyes fly open, expression alarmed, and he slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth, hisses, “Keep it down, will you! My sisters are sleeping!”

Harry’s shoulders shake with the force of his laugh and he fights against it, tries to control himself. Once he thinks he’s managed it, he eases his head back, swallows a giggle and whispers, “I’m sorry, it’s just. We violated their fort, Lou. With _princesses_ and Hello Kitty as witnesses. Oh,” he gasps, bites back another giggle. “This is so wrong.”

Louis chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip, but his eyes are smiling. “I’ll wash the blankets tomorrow. Spray some freshener so it doesn’t smell quite so much like sex in here before they get home.” He pokes a finger into Harry’s ribs. “Don’t let me forget, Haz. Alright?”

Harry nods, then starts to back out of the tent on his hands and knees, holds a hand out for Louis. “I won’t let you forget. Now come on, let’s change out of these clothes and go to sleep, I’m tired.”

Louis crawls out of the fort and unfolds himself, then dips into a bow and says, voice low and mocking, “As you wish, princess Harriet.”

He has to cup a hand over his own mouth to stifle a shrieking giggle when Harry chases him to his room. Louis is fast, but Harry has long legs, and he manages to grab Louis around the waist, reaches down and pinches his bum hard in retaliation.

 

~~

 

The last week of June, Harry and Louis are sprawled out on the grass in Louis’ back garden, clothes plastered to their bodies with a mixture of sweat and rain. The football is all the way on the other side of the yard, covered in mud from hours of playing.

Harry tips his head back as far as he can and opens his mouth wide, lets the rain pool inside of it and run out the corners of his lips. He’s already soaked, doesn’t mind that it’s sliding down his jaw and into his hair. He hears a giggle from his left, then Louis says, “What are you doing, you freak.”

He waits a moment, then closes his mouth and turns his head, squints one eye open and spits the water directly into Louis’ unsuspecting face. Louis squawks with indignation and Harry erupts into laughter, hands pressed over his aching stomach. He’s just turning onto his side to slide over to Louis when the back door opens and Jay sticks her head out.

“Boys? There are owls here for you.”

Harry’s laughter cuts off immediately, and he and Louis stare at each other wide-eyed, suddenly breathless with nerves and anticipation.

“Results,” Louis breathes, and then the two of them are scrambling up, bits of mud flying everywhere, and racing toward the door.

Jay throws a hand up as they near, shakes her head frantically. “Oh no, don’t even think about it! You two are filthy, I won’t have you tracking mud into my house, you just wait here.”

She comes back a few minutes later with towels. “Drop your clothes off in the washroom, I’ll clean them tonight.”

She leaves them outside and Harry tries not to think about the fact that he’s getting naked out in the back garden, where any of Louis’ sisters could see, as he strips off. Towels wrapped firmly around their waists, shoes left by the door, and dripping clothes in hand, the boys step inside, walk carefully across the tiles so they don’t slip and fall. They leave their clothes in the small washroom off the kitchen then, on unspoken agreement, head straight for the table, where two heavy parchment envelopes are sitting.

Harry traces a finger over the green lettering across the front, breath rattling nervously in his chest. Tongue caught between his teeth, he slides the tip of his finger underneath the flap, then looks up at Louis. Louis is already looking back at him, eyes wide and lips pressed together.

“Ready?” Harry shakes his head no with a small laugh. Louis gives him a weak smile in return, then whispers, “On three? One, two -”

They tear the envelopes open at the same time, tug matching squares of parchment out with trembling hands. Harry sets the empty envelope on the table, holds the parchment with both hands and takes a deep breath. This is his future in his hands, the results of his O.W.L.s. The letters on this scrap of paper determine what courses he’ll be able to take the following term, what sort of job he’ll be qualified for when he finishes school.

His eyes flash automatically to Louis’ again, and he sucks in another breath, fits his thumb between the edges of the parchment and unfolds it. He stares uncomprehendingly down at the paper for a moment, letters swimming blurrily across the page.

“Well?” Louis demands a couple of minutes later. “What’s it say?”

He comes up behind Harry and stretches up onto his toes so he can peer over Harry’s shoulder.

“Wow,” he breathes, and Harry feels him press a smile into the back of his shoulder. He giggles and murmurs into Harry’s skin, “My boyfriend’s a genius.”

Harry shakes himself out of his daze, focuses more clearly on the blocky letters stretched across the parchment.

“I got an E in Astronomy,” he says with a frown, and Louis laughs, throws his arms around Harry’s waist and squeezes.

“ _That’s_ what you focus on? Honestly, Harold. Eight O’s and you zero in on the one E. God, you Ravenclaws are insufferable.”

“Hey,” Harry protests. He sets the paper down on the table and turns around in Louis’ arms, his own folded across his chest. “Let’s see yours, then, Mister ‘better than you’ Slytherin.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing to write home about.”

“Come on,” Harry wheedles, unfolds his arms so he can pinch Louis’ side.

Louis curses and squirms away. ”Alright, blimey!”

He hands Harry the parchment and chews nervously on his lip as Harry studies the row of scores - five E’s and two O’s.

“I’m not the best student, but that’s alright,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not like I wanted to be an auror or anything, I just wanted to pass.”

Harry looks up from the paper, corners of his mouth turned down.

“Hey,” he says, reaches a hand out and draws Louis closer. “Don’t be like that, these are wonderful scores. Honestly, Lou.”

Louis shrugs again, but one side of his mouth is curling up in a smile as he presses himself up against Harry’s chest and winds his arms around his neck. “Well, we can’t all be brilliant Ravenclaws, but I suppose it’ll do. Luckily, I have you to support me for the rest of my life.”

Harry’s heart lurches wildly at Louis’ words and he feels the parchment crumple a little in his hand, forces himself to relax his grip and take steady breaths. _He didn’t mean anything by it_ , he tells himself as he sets the paper carefully on the table behind him and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. _He was just being sweet._

“Well,” he says, voice determinedly casual. “Who says I want to support you? Bloody leech. Maybe I’ll go find myself another Ravenclaw. Maybe I’ll marry Zayn.”

Louis stretches up onto his toes, laughs against Harry’s mouth. “I think you might have to fight Liam on that one.”

Harry shrugs, the tightness of his chest already easing. “He’s a Hufflepuff, I could take him.”

 

~~

 

With the wait for results over, the rest of the summer passes in a contented haze of traded visits.

At Harry’s, they swim and play with Luna. Louis traces shapes into the concrete with the tip of his wand, then animates them so they march around and wrestle with each other, circles blending into squares and rectangles merging with hexagons. Sometimes he draws fat flowers that dance underneath a smiling sun, or little fish that wiggle around and blow bubbles. Harry takes sidewalk chalk and draws stick figure representations of himself and Louis, lets Louis animate them so that they walk around hand-in-hand, climb over the shapes Louis had drawn and mess with each other, small chalk hearts floating around their heads like little birds.

Halfway through summer, Louis convinces Harry to mount a broom, gets him to fly around the lawn several meters off the ground; kisses it better when he takes tumbles and cheers when he finally manages to keep his balance for a full half hour, and rewards him with a lazy blowjob on the floor of Harry’s bedroom. They sleep sprawled out over Harry’s bed, limbs tangled together, the window of his bedroom open for Barnabas and letting in a pleasantly warm breeze that ruffles their hair in sleep.

 

At Louis’, they play with the twins, chat to Lottie and Fizz, play football until their clothes are soaked through and then pile into the shower together. Louis lets Harry fuck him against the cold porcelain tiles of the tub, then lays him out on his small bed and traces his football bruises - battle scars, Harry calls them with a smirk - with his mouth until Harry is a whimpering mess.

 

For three months, they mess around, tanning and playing sports and getting each other off at every opportunity. Harry tries to fill every moment so that he doesn’t have a chance to think about the quickly approaching school term, doesn’t have a chance to wonder what Louis’ plans are, how they’re going to manage the time apart when they can’t even seem to go a full week as it is. Every time he slips and asks Louis what he’s doing, Louis shuts him up with a kiss, diverts his attention with a new football maneuver or flips his pool float, so Harry stops asking.

 

~~

 

It’s two weeks to term. Last week in August, and Louis curls himself loosely around Harry in Louis’ bed, bodies sheened with sweat and limbs aching pleasantly as they come down from hushed, frantic sex. Harry sucks in shaky breaths as Louis trails his fingers over the dampness of his skin, eyelashes fluttering against Harry’s chest as he tracks the movement of his own hand. Goosebumps spread across Harry’s torso from the feather-light touch, and he tightens his fingers in Louis’ hair, shudders out a groan as Louis scratches his nails over his nipple.

Louis’ got a leg slung across his thighs and Harry can feel the cut of his cheekbone digging into his ribs, and even though Louis is right there, whole and tangible and his, he aches for him.

He can feel the trail of Louis' fingers slowing, can feel himself slowly sliding into sleep, his guard slipping, and he says without thinking, "Why won't you talk to me?"

Louis drops his hand, palm flat against Harry’s stomach, and uses it to lever himself up. “What are you talking about?”

He opens his eyes, suddenly not sleepy at all. “I’m talking about upcoming term, and how you won’t tell me what your plans are, what’s going to happen to our relationship. Term starts in two weeks.” He clears his throat, uncomfortable but determined. “What am I supposed to expect?”

Louis frowns, the glow of the moon coming in through the open windows casting shadows along the planes of his face, turning his eyes a dark, stormy gray, and Harry hates himself for how much he wants to reach out and touch Louis. Instead, he curls his hands into fists at his sides and waits for Louis’ answer.

“Harry, we’ve been through this -”

“Have we, though? Because I’ve asked. I’ve asked dozens of times, but every time you’ve distracted me or laughed it off. And I thought -” His throat closes up a little and he swallows around it, pushes up into a sitting position and hunches over his updrawn knees, like he can protect his heart if he compacts himself enough, wraps himself around it. “Lou, if you don’t want to continue this relationship after the summer, just tell me. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

He averts his gaze from Louis, who’s staring at him with his mouth hanging open and shock written across his face.

“What...” Louis’ voice is weak and he reaches a hand out to grasp Harry’s knee. “What are you talking about? Of course I don’t want.” He swallows, and it’s loud in the quiet room. “Is that what you think?”

Harry shrugs, stares intently down at his feet and determinedly ignores the way his resolve is slowly crumbling in the face of Louis’ timid tone. Louis withdraws his hand, and Harry can see him wring his hands together out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t know what I think, Louis.” He presses his face between his knees and drops into a whisper. “Most of the time, I think you care about me and want this to work. But I just don’t know why you won’t _tell_ me what your plans are for next year.”

“Haz,” Louis says, voice low and a bit desperate. He shifts up onto his knees, slides his hand across Harry’s back. “Of course I - of _course_ I care about you. Look, I. It’s...complicated, alright? I just...can’t tell you anything right now.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden upwelling of disappointment, squeezes them tight against the burn at the backs of his eyelids and nods once, sharp, whispers, “Right.”

Then he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, shuffles over to the spare mattress on the floor and throws back the covers. He can feel the hurt look Louis is aiming at him from his bed, so he turns over, back to Louis, tugs the covers up over his head, and wills himself to sleep.

 

The room is cloaked in the soft gray light of pre-dawn when Harry wakes up, birds trilling their morning songs from outside the still-open windows, and it takes him a moment to realize that the reason he’s woken up is because the mattress had dipped behind him and someone is fitting their body around his under the blankets. Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Louis wiggles a hand under his neck to curve up around his chest, wraps the other down over his stomach and presses his forehead against the nape of Harry’s neck.

“Harry,” He whispers. “Haz.” Harry’s eyes flutter open but he doesn’t turn over, just shrugs to show he’s awake but hasn’t forgiven enough to speak to him just yet. “Look, Haz. It’s just. I’ve got a few things in the works, right? But none of them are for certain and I don’t want to jinx anything.”

Harry can feel Louis press his mouth to the back of his neck, can’t suppress the shiver when Louis opens his mouth to speak and his breath ghosts over his skin.

“I don’t want this to end, Harry, that’s the last thing I want. You believe me, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just mouths the words against Harry’s skin, “I can’t tell you what I’m working on right now, but I promise you’ll know when the time is right. Just... trust me, alright? Please.”

Harry slides his eyes shut and presses his lips together, not really sure what to say. But he shifts his hand down, fits it over Louis’ on his stomach and slots his fingers down between Louis’ to let him know he’s heard him, at least.

He can feel Louis blow out a shuddery breath, and Louis tightens his fingers around Harry’s, whispers, “Okay.”

After that, neither of them speaks, and Harry finds himself drifting back off to sleep just as the room starts to fill with the hazy pink glow of sunrise.


	3. Chapter 3

On the Wednesday before term, Barnabas flutters through the kitchen window during dinner and lands neatly on Harry’s shoulder. Harry unties the small roll of parchment from around his leg and holds a piece of chicken up for the owl to nibble on before he flies off. He smiles placidly around the table at his family, waits for them to be distracted by conversation, then unrolls the parchment under the table, bites down on his bottom lip to hide his smile.

 

 

> _Hey Haz, Thursday sounds good. 11 oclock in front of Gringotts? See you soon can’t wait! xxxxx_

He rolls the parchment back up and tucks it carefully into his pocket, goes back to his dinner and tunes back into the conversation his family is having across him. He’s only got one more night with his family before Christmas holidays, he figures he should probably give them his undivided attention.

 

~~

 

At half ten on Thursday, Harry stumbles off the Knight Bus and onto the sidewalk outside the Leaky Cauldron, drops his elbows onto his knees and breathes deep and slow to try and settle his stomach.

It had been his first time riding the bus, and he hadn’t expected it to be quite so wild. A bit like that one day back in June, when Louis had dragged him to a muggle theme park in an attempt to escape the twins and their infatuation with Harry. No matter how much Harry had protested, Louis had insisted he ride a roller coaster with him. It had been a giant wooden contraption that was _not_ held together by magic, and after he had crawled out of the little cart shaking like a leaf, he had promptly vomited up the funnel cake Louis had bought him into the nearest rubbish bin and made Louis sit with him on a bench until he was sure he could walk again, then would only ride the children’s rides for the rest of the day.

Once he’s got his heart rate under control, he drags his trunk and Barnabas’s empty cage into the pub and up to his room, then makes his way into the back garden and opens the entryway to Diagon Alley.

Having grown up in a wizarding family, he’s been to Diagon Alley countless times, but he’s never gotten over the... well, the magic of it. The bustle of witches and wizards going about their shopping, the variety of magical beings wandering around freely - hags and goblins and leprechauns, even some creatures he’s never seen before. The bright colors of the shop windows, the enticing smells from food carts and bakeries, the not-so-enticing smells from the Apothecary, and the cacophony of sounds - people chattering to each other, vendors hocking their wares, owls hooting, the chiming of shop doors opening and closing.

He fights his way through the crowd toward the snowy white building in the center of the Alley, eyes hungry as he tries to drink everything in at once. He’s so busy watching the Apothecary shopkeeper scoop tiny, iridescent dung beetles into a pouch that he nearly runs headlong into someone in front of Gringotts, doesn’t even realize until there are hands clasping his shoulders and a familiar voice saying, “Woah, steady there, mate.”

Harry whips his head around, apologies spilling out of his mouth, and breaks into a grin. “Niall!”

“Hey, Harry, y’alright?”

Harry tugs Niall away from the front doors of the bank and toward the wall, where the crowd is thinner. “Yeah, just trying to get my bearings. It’s been ages since I’ve been here, it’s always a bit overwhelming.”

They’re joined shortly by Liam and Zayn, Zayn’s hand pressed casually to the small of Liam’s back, and when they stop in the shade of Gringotts, Zayn drops his hand and Liam reaches out, links their pinkies together and swings their hands back and forth between them. Louis arrives a few minutes later, out of breath but beaming around at everyone and wrapping them up in warm hugs.

“Right,” Liam says as he lets go of Zayn’s hand so he can pull a square of folded-up parchment from his trouser pocket. “I know we all need books, but what else does everyone need to buy?”

“I need a new cauldron,” Niall says with a sheepish grin. “I kinda melted mine last term. Cheering potion gone wrong.”

Liam hums and scribbles something down on the parchment with a quill he’s produced from seemingly nowhere. Harry scratches his head and looks down at Louis in amusement.

“Okay, Niall needs a cauldron. Zayn needs a new wand...”

Everyone turns to look at Zayn, who flushes pink and scuffs his toe against a crack between the cobblestones. “It’s a long story,” he starts, but when they just keep staring, he sighs and rolls his eyes, continues, “We were on holiday in Australia and Waliyha and I had a bit of a run-in with a vampire and a particularly vicious dingo. It was nothing,” he finishes in a mumble, and Liam pats his shoulder consolingly.

“Right, anyone else?”

Harry shrugs. “I should probably refill my Potions kit.”

“Oh yeah,” Liam mumbles, and he scribbles something else on the parchment, then looks up expectantly. When no one says anything else, he tucks the quill into his back pocket, then nods. “Shall we, then?”

They start at the Apothecary, since it’s closest, and refill their supplies for Potions, move on to the wizarding supply shop for a cauldron and beakers, and then to Ollivander’s for Zayn. Louis insists on ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s after that, where he buys Harry an enormous cone piled high with raspberry walnut ice cream. He steals licks off it as they wander the street, even though he has a cone that’s just as big and filled with peppermint cream that’s rapidly melting in his own hand, but Harry just smiles indulgently at him and bumps their hips together.

“Alright,” Liam says as he finishes off his sherbert, “I need new dress robes. Madame Malkin’s is right here, wait for me? It won’t take long.”

Harry leans back against the stone wall underneath an awning and tips his head back, eyes closed, and just absorbs the sounds around him. He’s content - more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, and it’s nice.

He can feel someone sidling up to him, slides one eye open to see Louis grinning slyly up at him, hands clasped suspiciously behind his back. Harry tilts his head forward, says cautiously, “Lou...? What is it?”

But Louis just shakes his head, darts forward to press his hands against the wall on either side of Harry’s shoulders and lifts up onto his toes so he can slide his mouth over Harry’s. His lips are sticky from the ice cream, but he tastes like peppermint, and Harry hums happily as he licks the mint off Louis’ tongue, smiles when Louis chases it with his own. Diagon Alley melts away, narrowed down to just the two of them, and he’s just getting into it and closing his hands around Louis’ hips when a hand comes down on his shoulder and he jerks away to see Liam looking back and forth between them, expression amused.

“Got my robes,” he says, waving a garment bag around, then steps back. He looks around at Zayn and Niall. “Flourish and Blotts, then?”

When Louis slips his hand into Harry’s as they ease back into the crowd, Harry hides a smile against his own shoulder.

 

The five of them have dinner that night in the Leaky Cauldron, then pile onto the ratty old armchairs by the fireplace with butterbeers and pass around a bag of sweets from Sugarplum’s until they’re the last ones in the pub save Tom, the crooked old barkeep.

Sleepy and pleasantly full, they stumble up to their rooms with vague mumurs about meeting up tomorrow morning. Harry holds the door to his room open for Louis, then slips in after him, leans back against it once it’s shut and locked and stares at Louis from across the room with hooded eyes. They’ve only got three more nights before he leaves for Hogwarts, and he wants to make the most of them.

Louis is already stripping off, clothes dropped in a careless heap on the floor, much to the consternation of the mirror above the bureau, who wheezes at him to pick up his trousers and fold them properly. Harry watches with fond amusement as Louis snatches his discarded shirt off the floor, stalks over to the dresser, and drapes it across the mirror so that it can’t see out.

The mirror gives an offended squawk, “Well I never!” Then subsides into indistinguishable grumbles and eventually falls silent.

Louis turns around to shoot Harry a triumphant smile, and Harry grins, crooks a finger at him. Watches with hungry eyes as Louis slinks over dressed only in his pants, tight black boxer briefs that make the tips of Harry’s fingers itch.

He keeps his palms flat against the door, though, as Louis approaches, lets Louis press himself along his body, suppresses a shiver when cold fingers sneak under the hem of his shirt so Louis can scratch his blunt nails against the skin of his lower abdomen. He can tell Louis registers the tightening of his muscles when he grins up at him, sharp and predatory, and then Louis’ hands are skating up his chest, dragging his shirt with them. He lifts his arms obediently, breath already coming in short pants as Louis whips his shirt over his head, and he gasps when Louis ducks in and sinks his teeth into the pad of muscle on his chest.

Harry’s head thunks back against the wood of the door and he groans, long and low, out into the still, thick air of the room, chokes off at the end when Louis tucks his fingers into the waistband of his trousers and tugs impatiently, lips and teeth working over his chest until they find a nipple.

He’s having trouble breathing, too much all at once, so he lets Louis do all of the work, doesn’t so much as touch Louis as he works on the fly of his jeans, even though his palms are tingling with want. Once Louis’ got the zip open, though, he leaves them clinging to Harry’s hips, slips a finger through one of the belt loops and uses it to tug Harry across the room to the bed.

Harry goes willingly, half-blind with lust and tripping gracelessly over his own feet, huffs out a laugh when Louis just shoves him back onto the bed. He bounces as he hits the mattress, then lifts his hips automatically when Louis’ hands close over the waistband of his trousers, grins stupidly up at the ceiling as Louis yanks his jeans and his pants down and off in one move.

Louis just stands there looking down at Harry for a moment, and Harry lifts his head off the mattress, waves his hands at Louis and whines, “Louis, come on. Come on, come on, come on,” he chants, and Louis lets out a giggle, but he obliges, climbs over Harry until he’s straddling his hips.

It’s dim in the room, a torch by the bureau the only source of light, but it’s enough to make out the golden hue of Louis’ skin, the fine hair on his chest, the way his pulse is fluttering in the base of his throat. The firelight is flickering in his eyes, orange sparks against a blue backdrop. Harry curves his hands around Louis’ knees, then slides them slowly up his thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin on the insides until Louis is squirming into the touch.

Harry runs one of his hands up, over the juncture of his thigh to palm Louis through his pants, the thin fabric doing nothing to mask the heat of his skin, the hard line of his erection. Louis’ eyelids flutter at the touch and his hips twitch forward, so Harry presses harder, rubs the pads of fingers over the head of Louis’ cock through the cotton; thrills when Louis lets out a breathy moan and falls forward a bit, has to throw his hands out to catch himself.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, but Harry shakes his head, tightens his grip on Louis through his pants.

“Want to get you off like this.” He reaches his other hand up, uses both to tug the boxers down over Louis’ bum and anchor the waistband up underneath his balls. “Want you to come on me.”

He flushes bright pink as soon as the words leave his mouth, but Louis moans again, pushes himself eagerly against Harry’s hand. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle the noises and Harry feels a surge of disappointment. He loves hearing the effect he has on Louis, but he knows the walls are thin, doesn’t really fancy giving their neighbors a show either. So he pushes his disappointment down, lifts a hand to his mouth and licks a stripe up his own palm, then fits it around Louis’ cock. The angle is odd, but Harry works through it, ignores the cramp in his wrist in favor of watching the flush spread from Louis’ cheeks, down his neck and across the top of his chest as Harry works his hand over his cock, swipes his thumb over the head and spreads precome down the shaft to make it easier.

He concentrates on making Louis feel good - twists his wrist on the upstroke, swipes his palm over the head, drags the rough pad of his thumb along the underside of his shaft until Louis’ skin is sheened with sweat and he can barely muffle the needy noises he’s making. He knows Louis’ tells by now, can sense he’s getting close when his thighs start to tremble and his fingers curl uselessly against Harry’s stomach over and over.

“Lou,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Louis to hear through the soft sounds of Harry’s hand sliding over his dick and the quiet snores coming from the dresser mirror. Louis’ eyes fly open, pupils blown wide so there’s only a thin ring of blue framing them. Harry knows they’re probably unfocused, that Louis’ mind is probably a blank haze of pleasure and that Harry is most likely just a blurry shape on the bed right now, but he holds Louis’ gaze, tightens his grip until Louis is panting, sweat sliding down his temples and hips twitching into Harry’s fist, and then he’s coming over Harry’s chest, eyes wide and locked on Harry’s as he jerks him through it.

Louis gives one last shudder, then slides boneless onto the mattress beside Harry, eyes staring, unseeing, up at the ceiling. Harry turns his head on the bed, grins at Louis’ dazed profile, watches the flutter of Louis’ eyelids.

“Give me a moment. I’ll get you, I just need... a moment.”

Harry nods, rights his head and tips his chin down to study the mess on his chest. He slides a finger through it experimentally, hums in his throat, then brings the finger to his lips and pops it into his mouth. Louis groans beside him, and Harry turns to look at him, eyes wide, finger still in his mouth. Louis lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Only you, Harry.” When Harry raises his eyebrows in question, Louis continues. “Only you could look so innocent when you’ve got a finger covered in my come in your mouth.” His grin turns feral and he turns onto his side, wraps his hand around the top of Harry’s thigh. “Dirty boy.”

“Only for you,” Harry purrs, slides his eyes shut on a blissful sigh as Louis swipes his hand across Harry’s chest, then closes it around him in a slick grip.

 

~~

 

The next two days pass in a lazy, contented pattern of sleeping, eating, and wandering aimlessly through Diagon Alley.

On Saturday, they eat a late breakfast at a small bakery near Gringotts, sit at a bistro table out on the cobblestones and bask in the early autumn sun. Harry sips his tea and nibbles on a gooseberry scone, one hand wrapped around Louis’ ankle where his legs are draped over Harry’s knees. He pretends not to notice when Louis steals pinches of the scone and pops them discreetly into his own mouth. In the end, though, Louis breaks off a piece of his black currant danish and holds it out to Harry as a peace offering.

Harry considers it for a moment, then leans in, closes his mouth around Louis’ fingers to the second knuckle. He looks up at Louis through his lashes as he curls his tongue around the bit of danish, then hollows his cheeks and slides slowly off Louis’ fingers, smirks at the way Louis’ mouth has fallen open and his gaze has zeroed in on Harry’s lips.

When Harry pulls off with a soft slurping noise, he hums appreciatively as he chews the bit of danish, smiles coyly at Louis after he’s swallowed.

Liam coughs, eyes wide on Harry, and Zayn rolls his eyes when Louis drops his legs and pushes his chair back roughly from the table, metal screeching on the stones. Louis wraps a firm hand around Harry’s wrist and jerks him out of his chair, and Harry grins triumphantly at Zayn, winks at Liam and Niall as Louis stammers something about being tired still and going to have a kip before lunch.

He tows Harry down the street, pointedly ignoring the catcalls from Niall and Zayn, but Harry just laughs, aims a cheery wave at them over his shoulder and lets Louis pull him along.

“Well, someone’s eager.”

“Shut up, Harry. This is your bloody fault.”

By the time they get through the archway and into the Leaky Cauldron, he’s pressed along Louis’ back, their clasped hands trapped between them and his other hand gripping Louis’ hip.

A boy Harry recognizes from school, a Gryffindor seventh year, he thinks, stares blatantly at them as they stumble up the stairs, so Harry grins cheekily at him and tips him a salute before rounding the corner onto the landing and disappearing into his and Louis’ room.

His stomach flutters pleasantly as Louis releases his hand, whirls around to grab him by the waist and shove him toward the bed. The flutter turns to coils of nervous anticipation, though, when Louis pushes him down onto the bed face-first, then jerks his hips up, reaches around and undoes his fly and yanks his trousers and pants down and off impatiently. He barely has time to catch his breath and settle his knees back on the bed before Louis’ hands are gripping his arse, thumbs digging into the muscle, and then, without any warning, he feels the flat of Louis’ tongue stroke over his hole.

He lets out a surprised string of curses, fists his hands in the bedsheets and drops his forehead against the mattress, tries not to make too much noise as Louis licks at him with flat, broad strokes, can’t help but whimper when the tip of his tongue slips inside him. They’ve never done this before, never even discussed it and within moments, he’s a trembling mess. He groans when a finger slides in alongside Louis’ tongue, shifts restlessly on the bed as Louis uses fingers and tongue to open him up, curls them relentlessly until Harry is panting into the duvet, too far gone to even register the snick of a bottle cap.

He only notices when Louis removes his fingers, shifts back eagerly when Louis shoves his shirt halfway up his back, the material already plastered to his skin with sweat, then drapes himself over Harry’s back, mouths at the nape of his neck as he lines himself up and pushes into Harry slowly.

Harry hisses as Louis bottoms out, hips flush against his arse. He’s already so close to orgasm that his teeth ache, pleasure swirling, heavy, in his gut. He drops down onto an elbow and starts to reach under himself and get a hand around his cock, but Louis swats it away, pants out, “No. Want you to - to come from this.” He eases back until he’s pulled nearly all the way out, then shoves back in, rough enough to pull a whimper out of Harry, for his knees to slide a few centimeters across the sheets. “Just this.”

Harry groans, uses his free hand to scratch across his chest, try and ease the simmering burn just underneath his skin. He rolls his forehead against his arm, bites his lip to try and staunch the soft puffs of noise Louis keeps punching out of him with every thrust. He can feel it building, winding impossibly tighter around the base of his spine, until Louis huffs out a breath, shifts on his knees and changes the angle, leans back in and bites down on the nape of his neck, and his orgasm slams out of him.

He comes so hard he blacks out for a moment, comes to with a whimper as Louis is pulling out, then turning him over onto his back. Harry stares dazedly up at Louis as he closes a hand around his cock and starts to jerk himself frantically, eyes wide and locked on the pink stain of Harry’s cheeks, the cherry red of his bitten lips, the spiky dampness of his eyelashes. Harry struggles to sit up, feels like his bones have turned to jelly as he fits his hands around the backs of Louis’ thighs and tugs him closer, ducks his head to take the head of Louis’ cock into his mouth.

He looks up at Louis through his wet lashes, mouth stretched obscenely around Louis’ cock. He can tell that Louis is close, tracks the heaving of his chest and the hitches in his breathing, then tugs Louis’ hand away and swallows him down until the head of his dick is hitting the back of his throat, hums happily when Louis grabs onto his hair and comes immediately.

Harry lets out a rough laugh and licks his lips as Louis tugs his cock out of his mouth, then flops onto his back, arms splayed wide, and pants dazedly up at the ceiling. He fits himself to Louis’ side, pets a hand over Louis’ chest and down his belly, tweaks the hair below his navel and presses a smile into Louis’ shoulder when his muscles twitch and he lets out a half-hearted squeak.

Louis slides a hand around Harry’s bicep and squeezes, and Harry is struck with a sudden need to be touching more of Louis, to establish as many points of contact as possible. Louis grunts when Harry rolls over and onto him, drapes himself over Louis like a blanket.

“Christ,” he hisses. “You don’t look like much, but you’re bloody heavy.”

Harry grins and flexes the bicep Louis is still gripping. “‘S all my muscles.” He ignores Louis’ snort, closes his mouth over the side of Louis’ neck and lazily sucks a bruise into his skin. “We should open a window,” he murmurs once he’s finished and admiring the rapidly purpling skin. “Air out the room. It smells like sex in here.”

Louis nods his agreement, but neither of them moves, eyelids already sliding shut and breaths evening out.

 

~~

 

Liam wakes everyone up early on Sunday. They have tea in Diagon Alley, then gather up their trunks and hail the Knight Bus for the trip to King’s Cross.

They’re early enough that the Platform is relatively empty, only a few families milling about and most of the compartments still unclaimed. Harry watches Louis say goodbye to Niall, Liam, and Zayn. He tugs each of them up into tight hugs with promises to see them over Christmas hols. When it’s Liam’s turn, they whisper things into each other’s ears and giggle into each others’ necks, then Zayn, Niall, and Liam get onto the train to hold a compartment.

Harry bites his lip, shifts nervously in place as he and Louis stare silently at each other, too much space and not enough words between them. After a few minutes of watching the sunlight play across Louis’ features, sparking off the blue of his eyes, filling the dips of his collarbones, casting shadows across his cheeks, Harry surges forward. He locks his arms around Louis’ neck, hands curled tight around his shoulders, and buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, breathes in deep around the ache in his heart when Louis’ arms come around his waist and squeeze just as tight.

They stand there wrapped around each other, unmoving, as the platform fills around them, oblivious to the curious stares and whispers of passersby, unaware of their friends watching them through the train window with their brows knitted in concern.

They stand there clinging quietly to each other until the train whistle blows, last call for passengers. Harry just squeezes harder, but Louis lets go reluctantly, gently pries Harry’s arms from around his neck and grips his bicep in one hand, uses the other to tilt his chin up.

“Hey,” he says, soft but firm. “Hey, Harry.” Harry meets his eyes, teeth clamped around his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “Hey, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Harry darts his gaze away, focuses on a point over Louis’ shoulder and concentrates on pushing down the burn in the back of his throat, nods weakly.

“Harry,” Louis says, and it sounds a bit like a sigh, a bit like a plea. “I promise, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Harry nods again, drops his eyes to the floor when Louis shifts up onto his toes and presses a kiss to his forehead, over each of his eyelids. Then, too soon, he’s letting go, pushing him toward the door of the train.

“Go,” Louis says, and Harry tries not to notice how his voice quavers. “You need to go, Haz.”

Harry gives one last nod and steps up onto the train, then turns around, hands gripping tight to the bar by the door as it starts to pull out of the station, keeps his eyes locked on Louis until they round a corner and he’s out of sight.

 

The train is a flurry of activity, students dipping in and out of compartments as they seek out all of their friends and housemates, and Harry takes a fleeting moment to be grateful he doesn’t need to patrol the first half of the train ride, hopes everyone will have settled by the time it’s his turn.

He finds his compartment easily, pushes the door shut behind himself and drops onto the bench between Zayn and the window. The boys eye him warily for a moment, but Harry steels himself, plasters on a false smile that he knows they can see right through, and says with forced cheeriness, “So, Niall, no big exams this year.”

Niall gives a short, awkward laugh, then says, “Yep.” Harry doesn’t miss the way he darts a wide-eyed look at Liam and Zayn before focusing back on Harry. “They’ll be piling it on to prepare us for N.E.W.T.s next year, though, I reckon.”

Liam nods his agreement, and after that, conversation picks up a bit. Before long, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all chattering animatedly again. Harry makes sure to put in a word or two every once in a while, but for the most part, he tunes them out, leans his forehead against the window and watches the glass fog up on every exhale and clear on every inhale, watches the scenery fly by in a brown and green blur as he tries - and fails - not to think about how empty the castle is going to feel without Louis there to fill in the gaps between classes, the spaces between his fingers, the pauses between breaths.

 

~~

 

The first week of term goes by in a blur of new class schedules, tripled prefect duties in order to help the first years adjust, and intense sleep deprivation, to the point that Harry barely even has time to miss Louis.

By the second week, though, everything has calmed down. The first years have mostly learned the layout of the castle, and if they haven’t, they’ve at least learned to band together to reduce the risk of getting lost; he’s got his schedule worked out, knows what routes he needs to take on which day in order to make it to his classes on time; and even has a coursework schedule mapped out so he doesn’t fall behind, that cuts off at a reasonable hour so that he can get a decent night’s sleep.

As the castle settles around the students, thoughts of Louis start creeping back in. On the third Monday of term, a post owl drops a _Daily Prophet_ next to his breakfast plate and Harry suddenly remembers that a letter from Louis had arrived at the end of the first week, but he’d been too swamped to reply.

Breakfast forgotten, he digs a piece of parchment from his satchel and pens a response to Louis. Tells him about his classes, faculty changes, silly things first years have said and done. At the end, he asks what Louis’ been up to, asks after his family and sends his love. He’s careful not to mention the word ‘job.’

Harry has a free period after lunch on Mondays and Wednesdays this term, so after he’s eaten enough to appease Zayn’s watchful eye and worried glances, he jogs up the stairs to the owlery and finds Barnabas. It takes some coaxing to get him to wake up, and his hello nip is a bit sharp, but when Harry ties the parchment to his leg and murmurs, “Take this to Louis, alright Barnabas? He’ll give you sausages,” the owl ducks his head for a quick neck rub, then takes off out the window.

 

They keep up steady correspondence for the next few weeks. Louis’ letters are always sweet and clever, just the right amount of sappy to make Harry blush and chew his bottom lip in pleased embarrassment. He tells Harry stories about his sisters and about playing football with his old mates from primary school, about how hard it is to remember not to use magic very often, lest a muggle see. Every once in a while, something niggles at his mind, a vague sense of deja-vu, but he forgets the feeling by the time he’s moved onto the next paragraph.

Harry loves the letters, presses all of them flat and stores them in his bedside table. But at the same time, they just make it harder for him. It’s easy, now, for him to picture the stories Louis tells him in his head. To imagine the looks on his sisters’ faces when Louis sneaks a bit of magic to get the dishes washed faster, or when one of them walks into his room to see his laundry folding itself. To picture him flushed and sweaty and caked with dirt from playing football all afternoon.

Sometimes Louis writers other things - things like how much he misses sleeping next to Harry, how his bed feels too big without Harry there. How he thinks of Harry when he touches himself, but it’s not the same - his hands are too small, too rough from all the sports he’s played, and now the angle’s all wrong.

As much as he loves the letters, loves the glimpses into Louis’ life and thoughts, as much as they make him laugh, the letters always end in a frown, in him scrubbing a hand across his chest in an attempt to ease the aching of his heart.

 

~~

 

The first Quidditch game of the season comes on the second weekend in October, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The whole school is walking around in a post-exam haze, grateful for the excitement of a Quidditch match to distract them from thoughts of how they did on their first exams of the term.

Harry wakes up with the rest of his house on Saturday morning, gets dressed and shuffles down to the common room. But instead of filing out the door with everyone else, he settles into a window seat and presses his forehead against the frosty glass. He tunes out the chatter of his housemates as he thinks about this time last year, about cheering Slytherin on along with Liam, Zayn, and Niall, and how, thanks to Louis, Slytherin had crushed Gryffindor in the first match of the season. He’s not sure who they’ve replaced Louis with this year, but he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t care.

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Zayn approach, starts so hard that he smacks his head against the window when Zayn lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Woah, easy mate.”

Harry shakes his head, presses a palm to his smarting temple and says, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk up.”

He frowns down at his lap when Zayn takes a seat beside him. He knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation, has been doing his absolute best to try and avoid it up until this point. He’d been doing a pretty good job of it, too.

“Harry...”

He’s always liked the way his name sounds in Zayn’s accent, but now it just fills him with a sense of dread, an intense desire to be absolutely anywhere else.

“Zayn,” he counters, trying for light-hearted but falling short.

When Zayn wraps a warm hand around his ankle and just looks at him, Harry can feel the walls he’s constructed carefully around himself start to crumble, has to press his lips together to keep himself from speaking, from telling Zayn exactly what he wants to know. If Zayn is going to pester him against his will, he’s going to make him work for it.

Harry folds himself down over his updrawn knees and looks at Zayn, waits for him to say something. His brow is furrowed like he’s considering what he’s going to say and how, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a simple, “What’s wrong?”

Harry bites back a sigh and says, “Nothing. I just miss Louis being here, that’s all.”

He’s not surprised when Zayn rolls his eyes and tightens his grip on his ankle. “Rubbish. I’ve been your best mate for six years now, you can’t lie to me that easily.”

“I wasn’t -” At Zayn’s raised eyebrows, Harry scowls and drops his chin to stare down at his hands clasped around his knees. Mumbles, “It was half true, at least.”

They’re both silent for a beat, Harry staring at his hands and Zayn staring at Harry, then Harry lifts his head, says, “Did you not want to go to the match?”

“Harry,” Zayn says, voice and expression firm. “Don’t change the subject.”

Harry sighs. “Alright. Ah, well. It’s just...a few things, I guess. I, um.” He lifts a hand, scrubs it though his hair. “Of course I miss Louis being around.” He shrugs. “I got used to seeing him every day. And I, uhm. Told Louis I love him? A while ago, actually.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, a hint of surprise in his voice. Then, after a moment of consideration, “Well, I suppose it’s been a long time coming, really. Did he...?”

Harry shakes his head. “And it was fine, really. Because I’ve kind of loved him for ages, but he didn’t even know who I was, so it’s not his fault, right? But now it’s been more than a year, or eight months if you don’t count the time we were fighting. And it’s not like I say it just so he’ll say it back, but...it’s been eight months and he hasn’t said it back.”

Zayn squeezes Harry’s ankle. “Maybe he’s just not ready.”

“Maybe,” Harry whispers, shakes his head again. “Or maybe he just doesn’t love me.” He jerks his head up at Zayn’s snort.

“I know you’re not an idiot because you’re a Ravenclaw, so you must just be blind.” Harry frowns, and Zayn sighs. “The two of you spent the whole of last year _and_ this summer in each others’ pockets. You could barely go two days without seeing each other. He went to King’s Cross with you to say goodbye. Plus, the way he looks at you is completely disgusting. He’s gone for you, mate.”

“If that were true,” Harry says, “why wouldn’t he tell me so? Why wouldn’t he even tell me what jobs he’s applied for? I know Louis, there’s no way he’s just sitting on his bum at his mum’s house. He’s doing something, he just doesn’t want me to know what it is. He’s.” He stops talking as something hits him. His eyes go wide and his chest goes tight, breaths coming out labored. “He’s been telling me all these stories in his letters,” he says slowly. “Stories about his sisters and playing football all day.” Harry looks up at Zayn. “I knew something wasn’t quite right, he’d write about it being hot outside in the middle of autumn, or mention something I know he’s told me before. He’s _lying_ to me.”

“Harry,” Zayn starts, but Harry shakes his head, slides off the window seat and stumbles to his feet. He can’t sit anymore, can’t think about this any longer.

“Don’t, Zayn,” he says, voice harsher than he had intended. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m being crazy.”

Zayn jerks back as if Harry had slapped him. “No, I. Haz, I’m on _your_ side. I just think - maybe he has a reason? He must have a reason.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice soft as awareness sinks in. He wraps his arms around himself. “That he doesn’t love me.”

He doesn’t wait for Zayn to respond, just turns on his heel and climbs the stairs to his dorm. He slips out of his shoes and crawls into bed fully clothed, slides his eyes shut when he feels the bed dip behind him. He knows it’s Zayn, can smell his cologne and could probably pick the cadence of his breathing out of a line-up, and as much as he wants to be alone, he can’t help but feel a little grateful when Zayn spoons up behind him and drapes an arm across his waist, tucks his face into the curve of Harry’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers into his pillow.

Zayn’s voice is muffled against his shirt when he says, “For what?”

Harry presses his lips together for a moment, takes slow, even breaths to calm the racing of his heart and ease the burning behind his eyes. “Making everything about me lately. I haven’t even asked -” His voice catches and he clears his throat. “Haven’t even asked how you and Liam are doing.”

He can feel the force of Zayn’s eyeroll without having to see it. “Don’t be stupid. _I_ asked how you were doing, I started the conversation. I’m worried about you, Haz.” A beat. “Liam and I are great, though. Thanks for asking, you over-sensitive bastard.”

Harry lets out a watery chuckle, takes a few hitching breaths and says softly, “I’m glad.”

 

~~

 

The following week is a blur. Harry ignores the letters Louis sends, tucks them into his bedside table unread. He moves through the castle like he’s under the Imperius curse, too absorbed in thoughts of Louis’ strange behavior - well, stranger than before - to pay attention in classes. Niall keeps shooting him worried glances as he tries to scribble notes down as quickly as possible. Harry’s always been the devoted note-taker, happy to help Niall fill in the gaps in his rather sporadic ones. Now, though, he just sits in class and stares straight ahead, hands linked and pressed between his knees as he runs through the constant loop of LouisLouisLouis in his head.

Even Professor McGonagall looks concerned when Harry fails to transfigure Niall’s hair into a purple bob during class on Friday. All he manages to do is lengthen it a bit, and he ducks his head under the weight of McGonagall’s gaze. He slumps out of class when it’s over, fights against the wave of students heading for the Great Hall for lunch and trudges up to Ravenclaw Tower instead. He’s got Herbology after lunch, but he’s knackered, too drained to even muster up the energy to take his trousers off before falling into bed and into sleep.

 

~~

 

“Okay,” Zayn says loudly as he tears back the curtains around Harry’s bed. Light floods in, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut tighter, whimpers despite the fact that it’s a gray sort of light, sky full of clouds that are heavy with the promise of rain.

Zayn is relentless, though. He drags the covers off of Harry and pokes him roughly in the side. Harry curls into a protective ball on the mattress, naked save a pair of pants and some fluffy socks. He grumbles as Zayn continues his attack, annoyance building until he calls out, “Okay, okay! What!”

He uncurls his body when Zayn stops poking him, snaps his eyes open on a glare when Zayn leans back in and pokes his cheek one more time, hard.

“Bugger off, Zayn.”

“Nope,” Zayn says cheerfully. He drops something onto Harry’s chest, and when he looks down, he realizes it’s clothes. A pair of jeans and a thermal shirt.

“What’s this,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. He’s still irritated at Zayn for waking him up so rudely, but he can’t find it in himself to really stay angry, numbness washing over him as his brain sputters to life and he remembers how miserable he’s been the past week and why.

“Clothes.”

Harry turns his head on the pillow to stare blankly at Zayn, unamused at his attempt at a joke. Zayn huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes as he leans forward and slaps his palm flat against Harry’s belly, a sharp sting, and Harry curls around it with an oof.

“Get dressed, you arsehole. It’s Hogsmeade weekend.”

“‘M not going.” He tries to turn his back to Zayn, reaches down toward his feet for the blankets, but Zayn flashes a hand out and grabs his wrist.

“No,” he says, voice firm. “I’m not letting you mope around the dormitory all weekend. I don’t have much free time before I have to start preparing for N.E.W.T.s and you’re being pathetic, and I want my friend back.” He shoves the clothes at Harry again. “So get up, get yourself dressed, and get your arse downstairs. We’re going to Hogsmeade whether you like it or not.”

Harry weighs his options. He could ignore Zayn, lie there quietly until Zayn either gives up and leaves or gets in bed with him again, or he could listen to Zayn and go to Hogsmeade, get some fresh air. He hasn’t been outside in over a week, he could probably use it. And anyway, he knows Zayn won’t back down on this one. He looks too determined, eyebrows lowered and mouth turned down into a frown.

With a put-upon sigh, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, scrubs both hands over his face and shoves his hair back. “I need a shower.”

Zayn nods. “I’ll sit in there with you.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, but Zayn just sets his jaw, daring him to argue.

It takes him a half hour to get ready, and he ties and re-ties his shoes three times in an attempt to stall before Zayn slaps his hands away and ties them himself, then drags him up into a standing position.

“Come on, Liam and Niall are waiting downstairs. We’re going to have breakfast first.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but snaps it shut when Zayn glares at him. It’s probably for the best, anyway. He can’t actually remember the last time he’d eaten a full meal and he feels a bit weak.

Niall and Liam greet him happily when they get to the Great Hall, tug him into hugs and seat themselves on either side of him on the bench at the Ravenclaw table. Zayn loads a plate for him, and Niall chats his ear off as he tries to eat some of it. Harry only half-listens, too busy thinking about how the first Hogsmeade weekend the previous year had been his and Louis’ first date, of sorts.

He pinches his lips together as he forces himself to swallow a bite of eggs, gives Niall a tight smile in response to whatever he’s just said - Harry has no idea what it was, but Niall is looking at him expectantly, a hesitant smile on his own face, so Harry guesses that’s what he’s looking for.

No one mentions Harry’s behavior over the past couple of weeks or his absence from meals and the occasional class. Instead, they try very hard to pretend everything is normal, and Harry is grateful. Mostly.

 

It’s uncommonly cold outside for this time of year, and Harry shivers in his coat as they step out into the wintery air, lets Zayn wrap an arm around him and tug him close. He can see Zayn’s other hand, clasped in Liam’s and swinging back and forth between them as they walk, and as happy as he is for them, he can’t help the way his chest goes tight with sadness and a tinge of jealousy, the way his vision blurs a little as he focuses on the muddy ground below them.

 

The air warms a bit as they near Hogsmeade, the crowd of buildings each putting off their own heat and built close enough to each other to block most of the wind. Zayn drops his arm as the muddy path turns to cobblestone street, and Harry is about to suggest the Three Broomsticks, his frozen fingers shoved into his pockets against the chill, when Liam says, “Zonko’s?”

Harry frowns. Liam’s never really been one for his own jokes and tricks, happy enough to go along with whatever Louis was planning.

“Really?” Niall asks. “Isn’t that more of -”

He cuts himself off with a cough and there’s an awkward pause, then Zayn says, “Yeah, let’s go to Zonko’s first.”

Confused, Harry looks at him questioningly, but Zayn just smiles at him and loops a hand through his elbow.

“Come on, Harry. I’ll buy you some dung bombs or something.”

Zonko’s is an absolute madhouse. The aisles are packed tight with students, air stale and close, and Harry can feel himself start sweating immediately. He lets Liam and Zayn lead him through the crowded store, not really paying attention to where they’re heading as he tries to wrestle his coat off.

He’s got an arm out of one sleeve and is working on the other, body contorted uncomfortably as he tries to drag it off, when he walks right into someone. He’s so wrapped up in his coat that he loses his balance, and two hands shoot out to grasp his hips and right him, palms warm through the material of his shirt.

“Steady there, love,” the person mumbles, and Harry’s heart stops. He lifts his eyes from where they’ve been locked on his feet, lets them travel slowly, uncomprehendingly, up a pair of black denim-covered legs, narrow hips with a short, pocketed apron tied around them, and a compact torso.

They eventually lock on a pair of familiar blue ones, wide and uncertain as they look back at him, and Harry’s mouth drops open and his hands fall to his sides. He vaguely registers his jacket dropping to the floor in a heap, but he can’t really bring himself to care enough to stoop down and retrieve it.

“ _Louis_?”

Louis’ voice is high and nervous when he says, "Hiya, Harry."

 _Oh god_ , Harry think, he's actually lost it. There's no way Louis is actually there in Hogsmeade. He shoots Zayn and Liam a panicky look, but the two of them are watching him expectantly, smiles encouraging, and Harry says, voice weak and feeling desperately confused, "Zayn?"

Zayn steps forward, lays a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Yeah, babe, it's alright."

Liam moves closer as well, says, "Louis, could you take a break maybe? Talk to Harry outside?"

Louis just nods, gaze locked on Harry's face. He hasn't looked away since Harry bumped into him, and it's making Harry uneasy. He's still not entirely sure what's going on, but when Louis reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder, then turns and disappears into the crowd, Harry panics.

"Lou? Louis!" He calls frantically after him, but Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders and steers him toward the exit, murmuring quietly to him as they fight their way through the throng of excited students browsing through the merchandise.

It's cold outside, and Harry wraps his arms around himself, remembers he'd dropped his coat inside and is just about to turn and say something to Zayn when Liam drapes it over his shoulders. Harry shivers and pushes his arms into the sleeves, shoots Liam a grateful look and whispers, "Thanks Liam."

He still can't quite wrap his head around Louis being there, is trying to puzzle it out in his head when he feels a hand grip his elbow. He turns around to Louis smiling up at him timidly, and his heart lodges itself in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to see Louis, he _always_ wants to be near Louis, but the past months have been such a mess of emotions - unanswered declarations and evasiveness - that he just doesn’t know what to _say_.

In the end, they just stand there staring at each other for a few minutes in silence. Eventually, Zayn clears his throat and says, “Right, well. Liam and I are just gonna go stand...not here.”

They’ve lost Niall, somehow, but Harry can’t think about that right now. They leave, and when Harry still doesn’t say anything, Louis shifts his weight from foot to foot, says, “Harry? Is everything alright?”

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times, still at a loss for words, then shakes his head slowly. Louis takes a step forward.

“What is it? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

He sounds hurt now, and Harry lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. He opens his mouth to reassure Louis, to wipe the wounded look off his face, but all that comes out is, “I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Louis takes a step closer, reaches out to grasp Harry’s wrist.

“What you’re doing here,” Harry says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it _is_ , what is Louis playing at?

“Oh,” Louis says, a note of surprise in his voice that confuses Harry even further. Louis looks down at his free hand, fiddles with the apron around his waist. Harry pays closer attention to it now, sees that it has the Zonko’s logo over one of the pockets and various tools attached to it - tongs, a metal scoop, and a pair of elbow-length dragonhide gloves. He looks up at Louis, eyes wide, and Louis cocks a hip. “I work here.”

Harry whispers, “What?”

“Yeah, I...” Louis sighs, scrubs a hand through the back of his hair. “I have a house a few streets over. It’s small, but it’s alright. It’s just me, so...”

He cuts himself off, watches Harry nervously. Harry stares down at the ‘Z’ on Louis’ apron, tries to sort through all of his thoughts. He can feel shock and irritation bubbling up inside him and fighting for dominance. Irritation takes over easily. Irritation at Louis for not telling him sooner, at Liam and Zayn for having clearly known about this, at himself for not seeing the signs - how quickly Barnabas would return with a new letter after bringing one to Louis, the strange familiarity of Louis’ stories, the random post owls that would bring Louis’ letters sometimes that clearly weren’t coming from anywhere in Doncaster. But most of all, above the hurt, irritation at Louis for finishing his studies at Hogwarts and going to work as a clerk at _Zonko’s_.

When he looks back up at Louis, he’s scowling, brows drawn and mouth pulled down into a frown, and Louis’ eyes go wide. “Hazza? Are you _angry_ with me?”

“Yes!” Harry shakes Louis’ hand off his wrist and takes a step back, ignores the way Louis shivers when he does. “What are you _doing_ , Louis?”

Louis’ mouth drops open. “What’re you -”

“You’re better than this, Lou. You’re too smart to be working in a joke shop in Hogsmeade, this isn’t.” He presses his lips together, repeats, “You’re better than this.”

Louis gives an incredulous laugh and crosses his arms over his chest, tucks his hands into his armpits. “Harry, it’s not forever. I just - I wanted to be near you.”

Harry just stares at Louis as he tries to absorb his words, to reconcile them with Louis’ strange attitude the past few months. Louis stares back, gaze steady, and after a moment, Harry realizes that he’s shivering uncontrollably, jaw clenched so his teeth won’t chatter. With a sigh, Harry takes off his coat and hands it to him wordlessly. Even when he’s angry at Louis, he can’t help wanting to take care of him.

Louis shakes his head, tries to push it back, but Harry says, “Take it Lou, I’m always hotter than you.”

He studiously ignores the way one corner of Louis’ mouth quirks up and he nods in agreement, refuses to smile at Louis’ little joke.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles, shoves his hands into his pockets when Louis finally takes the coat and slides it on. Louis burrows into it, tucks his nose into the collar and looks up at Harry through his lashes. When he speaks, it’s muffled by the coat, and Harry has to lean in to hear him properly.

“Do you not want me to be near you? Is that what this is?”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, disbelieving. Without thinking, he reaches a hand out, fists it around the lapel of his coat and drags Louis closer. “Of course I want you near, Louis. I always want you near. I just... didn’t think you want to be near _me_.”

Louis huffs out a frustrated sigh, slips his hands up under Harry’s shirt to press them against his skin. They’re freezing, and Harry hisses out a breath but doesn’t push him away. “Why would you even think that?”

Harry frowns. “Maybe because every time I’ve asked you about your plans, you’ve changed the subject? Even when I begged you. And I know the stories you’ve been telling me in your letters are old. Don’t think I didn’t notice. How long have you been here?”

Louis shrugs, expression uncomfortable. “A few weeks.”

“Weeks,” Harry whispers, and he can’t keep the hurt out of his voice, can’t keep it from flashing across his face.

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure - I didn’t know it was all going to work until the last week in September, and then I only had two days to get everything in order. And I didn’t want to tell you about this until it was certain, but at that point, Liam said you had a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, so I thought -”

“I hate surprises, Lou. And this... as much as this might seem like it’s going to be a perfect arrangement, we’re still never going to get to see each other. I’ll be in the castle and you’ll be here, and we’ll only see each other on Hogsmeade weekends. You’re wasting your time here.”

Louis shakes his head, a smile easing across his face. “You underestimate me, Harry.” He slides his hands, already warmed up, around to palm the small of Harry’s back. “A few years ago, I was revising in the library and I found a book. It was an old Charms book, mostly silly spells meant for amusement, but I needed to find a tickling charm. So I was flipping through it, and someone had drawn something on one of the blank pages between chapters. It was a map of the castle and grounds, but instead of focusing on classrooms and dormitories, there were these lines, these pathways I had never seen before. A few of them were crossed out, things scribbled next to them like ‘collapsed’ or ‘blocked off,’ and I realized they were secret passageways, and that two of the presumably intact ones lead out to Hogsmeade. One comes out in the Shrieking Shack, and one of them comes out in the cellar of Honeydukes.”

Harry watches the excitement flashing across Louis’ face, listens to it growing in his voice, and lets some of it seep into him and curl under his skin, a bit like hope, a soft buzz like a live wire spreading through his body as he thinks about what this means.

Louis continues, “I can tell you where the entrance is, Harry. I can come get you from Honeydukes, or I could come up to the castle. We can meet -”

Realization dawns on Harry suddenly, and he interrupts, “Wait. Is that how you always had cases of Butterbeer for parties?”

Louis laughs, a sly grin stretching across his face. “Yep. Rosmerta’s assistant is a former Slytherin. I made a deal with her when I found the map. Very convenient, that passageway.”

Harry smiles back, slides his hands inside the coat for a bit of warmth and concentrates on not getting ahead of himself. There’s still just one thing...

He drops his forehead onto Louis’ shoulder and whispers, “Louis, why are you doing this?” He feels Louis’ body go rigid, fingers digging into his back, and he lifts his head so he can watch Louis’ expression when he answers. “What do you really want?”

Louis opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. His eyes are wide and more gray than blue in the weak autumn sunlight, hair still streaked with gold from the summer and eyelashes to match. And Harry wishes it didn’t matter, wishes he could just accept what Louis is giving him, because he’s so beautiful and he’s right _here_ , but he needs to know.

He can see the different thoughts flashing through Louis’ head, can see the emotions playing out in Louis’ eyes, but eventually they settle into determination and something else Harry can’t quite pin down. Louis slides his hands back around to grip Harry’s waist, thumbs pressed along the cut of his hips, and Harry sucks in a breath, holds it while he waits for Louis to speak.

Louis says, voice firm and sure, “I want you.”

Harry relaxes, lets his shoulders slump, lets the breath he’d been holding out slowly and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. Louis wants him, wants to be with him, is willing to give up two years of his adult life to work in a joke shop just to be near him. Maybe he doesn’t love him just yet, but Harry is willing to wait it out. He tucks his face into the crook of Louis neck and whispers, “Okay.”

Louis’ hands squeeze at his hips and Harry feels his mouth brush over the shell of his ear. Louis whispers back, voice hopeful, “Okay?”

Harry nods and lifts his head so he can look at Louis. Louis’ eyes are bright with happiness, and Harry makes a small noise in his throat, pulls one hand from around Louis and lifts it to cup his jaw.

The sound Louis makes when Harry slides their mouths together ripples down Harry’s spine and he pulls Louis closer with the hand around his waist. Louis’ lips part under his, and Harry sighs into the kiss, takes it slow and sweet. He swipes his tongue across Louis’ bottom lip, is just scraping his teeth over it when someone behind them says, “Tomlinson!”

Louis jerks back and looks around. There’s a frazzled looking man with wild gray hair poking his head out the door to Zonko’s. “Bernard.” Louis curses and pulls away from Harry with an apologetic glance. “Is my break over?”

Bernard nods. “About ten minutes ago, come along. We’re slammed, I need all the assistance I can manage.”

The door swings shut on Bernard as he turns back inside, and Louis sighs, runs his hands through his hair.

“Well, I’d better go.”

Harry nods, chews on his bottom lip. “Send me an owl? With the location of the entrance to the passageway. Tell me when you want me to come and I’ll be there.”

Louis breaks into a beaming smile and nods excitedly. “Of course, yeah, I’ll send one as soon as I get off.” His expression turns wicked. “And then maybe I can get you off.”

Harry barks out a laugh and shakes his head, fondness bubbling up in his chest. “You’re hopeless.”

“I know.” With a wink, Louis turns to head inside. Harry watches him go, humming happily with his hands tucked into his pockets. Just as Louis closes his hand around the door handle, he turns around. His eyes are shadowed by the awning over the door, lips swollen from kissing, and cheeks flushed pink from the cold and from Harry, and Harry wants to eat him up.

Louis just stands there for a moment, expression unreadable, and Harry raises an eyebrow in question and waits for him to say whatever it is he’s thinking about saying. Finally, Louis opens his mouth and calls out to him, voice clear as it carries across the porch, “I love you, Harry.”

Stunned, Harry just stands there. The air is frozen between them, as if it’s just waiting for someone to move, to speak and break the fragile tension. Louis watches Harry expectantly and Harry stares back, matching waves of joy and pride and desire welling up inside his chest and choking him. He starts forward, intent thrumming through every line of his body, but he’s barely made it two steps when the door to the shop swings open and nearly smacks Louis in the head.

There’s a small group of girls trying to leave, and they giggle when they see Louis standing there, trill out apologies as they scurry past him and out onto the street. Louis looks back at Harry with wide eyes, but the moment is broken. He smiles sheepishly at Harry, and Harry sighs, shifts back onto his heels as he returns it.

Louis glances into the store then back at Harry, winks at him and mouths _later_ , then disappears inside.

Harry stares at the door to the shop as he replays the last few minutes in his mind. He feels lighter than he has in ages, happiness expanding inside him like a bubble until it feels like there’s barely any room for his organs, like his chest might burst from all this love and happiness and excitement he’s containing within himself.

When he feels someone approaching behind him, he whirls around, unable to control the manic grin on his face. Liam and Zayn stop in front of him, curiosity written across their features.

“Well?” Zayn asks, and Harry lets out a burst of giddy laughter and launches himself at them both, wraps an arm around each of their shoulders and squeezes.

When he pulls back, he presses smacking kisses to each of their mouths in turn, beams at Liam when he says, eyebrows raised, “I think it went well, then?”

Just then, Niall stumbles out of the shop, caught in the midst of a large group of third years with ecstatic looks on their faces and arms full of purchases.

“Merlin’s beard,” he pants as he hobbles up to them. “It’s like a zoo in there! Did you guys get anything?”

He looks back and forth between the three of them, oblivious to what’s been happening. He does a double-take when he sees Harry’s smile, though, smiles back uncertainly, and Harry giggles, drapes his arm across Niall’s shoulders and tugs him up against his side and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Nope, not this time. ” Liam says helpfully, then rubs his hands together. “Come on, let’s go get some butterbeer, it’s bloody freezing out.”

 

Not until they’re partway through the walk back to Hogwarts does Harry realise that he’s left his coat with Louis. He shrugs to himself. He doesn’t feel cold, not really, still too warm inside from the events from earlier and the butterbeer he’d consumed. He tries to tamp down on the smile that’s been stretched across his face all morning. His cheeks ache with it, muscles sore from hours of beaming smiles, but he can’t seem to stop, definitely doesn’t care.

Halfway to the castle, Niall wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and bumps their hips together.

“Y’alright?” He asks, and Harry grins down at him and nods, tucks his own around Niall's waist and squeezes his side.

He wants to say something poetic, something that could accurately describe exactly how he’s feeling at this moment so that Niall will understand just how happy he is with his life right now. In the end, though, he just settles on a simple, “Never better.”


End file.
